


There Jack Stayed

by Claycastles



Category: Newsies, Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Ghost!Jack Kelly, Hate Crimes, Implied Sexual Content, Jack died, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, it's not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claycastles/pseuds/Claycastles
Summary: In 1900 Jack Kelly is shot and killed at age 19, so what's a ghost to do but haunt the lodging house?Then the lodging house is torn down and turned into the apartment building.In 2018 Davey Jacobs moves into the apartment building.(Ghost romance Davey/Jack)





	1. Chapter 1

Jack Kelly didn’t remember much from his death. He was nineteen at the time, his birthday was in barely a few days. He remembered walking with Crutchie, then a man pulled a gun on them, and after that it was just a blur. There was definitely a gunshot, and Jack didn’t remember who it hit, but context clues would suggest it hit him. Jack thought he’d remember that though, being shot seems like something someone would remember, right?

It didn’t matter much. Faded memory or otherwise, Jack Kelly was dead as a doornail. It threw him for a loop at first, waking up in a spectral form, alone in a the Newsies lodging house. Well, he wasn’t really alone. The other boys were there, but they didn’t see him. They walked through him, and carried on with their lives.

Jack didn’t blame them, they had lives to live and mouths to feed. Jack was just another name to add to the list of boys who died on the job. Crutchie was kind though. He insisted they hold a funeral, and all the boys pitched in a few cents for a coffin. It warmed Jack’s cold spirit to see the boys insuring he was put to rest properly… not that Jack was really at rest.

Part of him expected the last nail in the coffin to change things, but it didn’t. He was still standing invisible between Crutchie and Racetrack as they lowered his lifeless form into the ground. 

Jack thought the dirt might change something, but there he stayed, watching his friends each toss a handful of soil on the rotten wood of a shitty coffin as cheap as the dirt it sat with. It’s all the boys could afford. 

There Jack stayed when he was buried and gone. 

There Jack stayed as the boys said their final goodbyes with watery eyes and sniffly noses. 

There Jack stayed even as a priest muttered a few final words.

There Jack stayed.

No, Jack didn’t ascend to heaven nor plummet to hell. He just… stayed put. He stayed in the lodging house, stuck, unable to leave the building. It sucked all kinds of ass. Imagine that; being stuck for eternity in a house of smelly, hormonal teenage boys? There were some dark times, and sights Jack really wished he could unsee. Racetrack Higgins jacking off was not something Jack ever needed to see, dead or alive.

Well, the boys Jack knew aged out and moved on with their lives one by one. Crutchie, Race, Specs, Finch, and all the others headed off as grown men to find better jobs, or get married, etc. New boys came in, and Jack got to know them without ever having a single conversation with them. They seemed okay, but they just weren’t Jack’s newsies.

They aged out too, but more boys came, then they aged out, and the cycle continued. Every generation of newsies got smaller and smaller as papers started to be delivered by car, rather than newsie. Soon the lodging house was empty. Then the lodging house wasn’t a lodging house anymore, but an empty building. 

The silence in the old lodging house was horrible. It used to be filled with the laughter of boys, and for the first time since Jack’s death, he truly felt alone. It was deafening, and he yet Jack lingered. He had nowhere else to go, and it’s not like he could leave anyway. He tried in those first couple days, but after the funeral he found himself unable to cross the front door.

Then one day, Jack watched them tear the lodging house down around him. Walls crashed to the dirt and wrecking balls flew right through Jack’s form. It didn’t hurt, not physically, but his home was being destroyed, and that pained Jack more than he cared to admit. The lodging house was the last thing he had of life, and now it was in rubble as men in hard hats pulled it apart piece by piece.

The anger boiled inside of him, all the rage, and fear, and loneliness overflowed and before Jack could really regaster what was happening, a hanging light came crashing down on a worker, nearly killing him.

Panting, his fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white, Jack glared at the workers as they collected the injured man off the ground. Jack wanted to hurt them. He wanted them to lose their homes. He wanted them to hurt like he was hurting! Jack slammed a fist against the wall out of frustration, and all the light bulbs popped, sending shards of broken glass flying.

Construction was halted for a few days, but continued quickly after. They finished the new building within a month or two. Maybe it was longer. Maybe it was shorter. Jack couldn’t tell, days, weeks, months, and years tended to blur when you didn’t sleep. He wasn’t even sure what year it was anymore. Last time he checked it was 1943, but who knows how long ago that was?

The new building some kind of apartment complex. Jack immediately hated it, and god, did he want to retaliate, but he still hadn't quite figured out this ghost deal. He couldn’t make himself seen to others, or even move objects. On a very rare occasion he could move an object or two, but only when he was feeling particularly pissed off. Sometimes when strong emotions hit him the lights flickered or burst. Sometimes doors slammed behind him without him meaning to, or the windows or glass fogged as he passed, but he had no idea how to control it. 

It was miserable, he couldn’t do anything. Jack hadn’t had a real conversation in an unmeasured amount of time, and he was dying to do something other than host one sided conversations with people who didn’t even know he was there! At least he watch and listen to them. Jack didn’t live, but they did, so maybe he was living through them?

Jack got good at watching people. There wasn’t much else for him to do but watch. He watched people come and go in the lodging house, but the apartment building was different. Jack picked an apartment and settled in it, claiming it as his own. For a few months no one moved in, but then a young couple took up residence in Jack’s self proclaimed home.

Jack did the only thing he could. He watched them. Her watched the young woman cheerfully cook dinner as her husband read a newspaper. Jack leaned against the bedroom door frame and glared at them. They were blissfully ignorant about their unannounced roomate, but boy, oh boy, Jack was hyper aware of them.

He’d gone quite accustomed to the silence. In a way the solidarity wasn’t so bad. At the very least, it was better than two strangers moving into his home and acting like they owned the place. Jack’s eye twitched in irritation, and the lights flickered.

The husband looked up from his newspaper and scowled. “We need to talk to the landlord about those lights.”

The wife was in the kitchen cooking, stirring a pot of pasta and wearing a bright pink apron. “Hmm.” she hummed in agreement.

Jack graviated closer to the husband to look at the front of the newspaper. 1969, he noted. Wow, the time really did fly when you’re stuck in a miserable situation trying not to go stir crazy, huh?

“Honey, how long until dinner?” The husband asked, turning the page.

“About fifteen minutes!” She responded in a sing-song tone.

Jack rolled his eyes in disgust. Feeling petty, he tried pushing a flower vase off the dinner table. He expected his hand to phase through it, like always, but his hand hit solid ceramic. The vase went tumbling off the table and shattered on the hardwood floors with a loud crash.

All three of them jumped at the noise, it startled even Jack. The wife and husband both hurried towards the table to look at the damage. They were talking, but Jack wasn’t really listening. He leaned down and tried to pick up a large broken piece. Disappointingly, his hands passed right through the floor. He sighed and withdrew his hand. “Dammit.” He muttered.

Jack realised not too long after that he could move things if he just harnessed his anger correctly. Of course, Jack abused this power to terrorize the young couple until they eventually moved out, swearing up and down the place was haunting. Oh, how right they were.

Jack, still unseen and unheard, did the same thing to the next seventeen people to move into the apartment. The landlord, Mr. Harpie seemed to catch onto what was happening. Every resident ran away screaming about ghosts, so of course he eventually got a clue. He stopped renting Jack’s apartment.

It was full of things people had left behind in their rush to escape the haunted building. Jack had an old couch, some chairs, a deck of cards, a radio, and a few other odd items. It was pretty empty, but it was home to Jack. He loved that radio, when he got angry it turned on and picked up signals, playing music. It’d been decades since Jack heard music, and it was infinitely better than silence, even if he didn’t really understand this new age of music. He wasn’t sure who the Backstreet Boys were, but they were on the radio a lot when he first figured out how to use it, and they had some good music.

Point being, Jack’s apartment stayed ‘vacant.’ Jack liked to think he and Mr. Harpie had an unspoken understanding. Mr Harpie didn’t rent Jack’s apartment, and Jack didn’t fuck with any of the other residents. Despite never having a single conversation with Mr. Harpie, the landlord followed the terms of their agreement flawlessly.

Then, in 2018, Mr. Harpie died. His son took over the building. Mr. Harpie Jr. was definitely not as superstitious as his father, seeing as he immediately rented out Jack’s apartment despite the other resident’s warnings. Asshole.

So there Jack stood, leaning against the bedroom door frame again, watching the new resident. From what Jack had gathered, his name was David Jacobs and he was moving out of his parent’s place for the first time in his life to be closer to his college campus.

David’s parents, little brother, Les, and little sister, Sarah all helped him move in over the course of two days. Jack fully intended to scare David off like so many others, but then David got a cat. A motherfucking cat. Jack hated that cat. It was a stupid little gray thing named Shakespeare, of all things. It really threw a wrench into Jack’s usual routine. The old landlord never allowed cats, but this new guy was messing everything up!

David was sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling away in a notebook with his laptop out. He was doing homework, probably for college.

Jack walked to the bedroom and pushed a stack of textbooks off the bed. They thud against the hardwood floors loudly, then Jack poked his head out of the bedroom to see David’s reaction.

David sighed, but didn’t even look up from his work. “Shakespeare, if you knock anything else over I swear to god I’ll throw away all your treats!”

Jack blinked at him. “What?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at David. “That wasn’t the fucking cat, you asshole, pay attention!”

This quickly became common occurrence. Jack would knock something over, break something, or make a loud noise… Then David would yell at the cat. Jack fucking hated that cat. David didn’t even realise he was haunted because of that stupid fucking cat, and it was ridiculous. Jack would have to step up his game. 

One day David was sitting on his bed, once again diligently doing his class work. He was typing away on his computer, and Jack slammed the laptop shut, very nearly on David’s fingers. David startled, and Jack grinned. That definitely got his attention.

David blinked at his laptop, the slowly opened it back up. “One too many cups of coffee Davey, you’re imagining things…” He muttered to himself.

Jack grumbled in frustration, then slammed the laptop shut again, before David could even enter his password.

David stared down at the laptop like it was possessed. “What the fuck…”

David once again tried to open the laptop, but Jack simply slammed it back shut. David kept trying, but Jack wouldn’t allow it. After about fifteen attempts, Jack allowed David to reopen his computer. Once he got it open, David sat there in silence for a moment, waiting to see what would happen. When the computer stayed open, David let out a breath of relief.

He typed his password, and the moment his document reloaded, Jack grabbed the laptop off the bed. David screamed and scrambled backwards, staring at the floating laptop. 

“...Yeah I bets that got ‘er attention, huh fella?” Jack muttered bitterly. He highlighted all of Davey’s essay, then hit delete. He started typing, then practically shoved the laptop back into Davey’s arms.

David was breathing heavily, but he read the message all the same. In bolded, underlined, red text, replacing his essay, it read, ‘GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT.’

There was a long moment where Davey just sat in silence, staring wide eyed at the screen. Jack’s lips twitched into a smug smile. This’ll convince him to fuck off, right? David’s face shifted through several emotions, confusion, fear, anxiety, horror, then anger.

“Oh my god, you deleted my essay!” His hands flew up to his hair, tugging at the brown strands, eyes blown wide and breath labored. “You—, you deleted—, my essay—, that was my—, that was for a final—, It’s due in a few hours! No, no, no, no!” He cried out, desperately pulling the computer into his lap. David looked completely anxiety ridden, on the verge of a panic attack.

The guilt hit Jack like one of the wrecking balls that slammed through the lodging house all those years ago. “Oh… oh no. I’s fucked up.” Jack snatched the laptop from David’s hands again and David scrambled after the computer.

“No! No, whatever you are, demon, just stop! I give it back! I’m fucking failing this class!”

“I’m trying to fix it!” Jack yelled back pointlessly, moving the computer out of David’s reach. He carried it from the bedroom to the dinner table. He sat down and desperately looked for an undo button.

David was quick after him, trying to reclaim the computer, but he fell short when he saw the arrow moving across the screen while Jack searched for a way to undo his impulsive mistake.

“Ah-ha!” Jack exclaimed as he found the undo button. He clicked it repeatedly until the essay reappeared. He scrolled to the bottom and typed a quick message, then Jack shot from the chair, knocking it over as he went. He stepped back and watched anxiously as David dove at the computer.

He let out a huge sigh of relief as he saw his essay intact, but furrowed his eyebrows at the message. “‘I’m sorry?’” Davey read aloud. “What? I don’t—, Oh my god.” He groaned and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

Jack chewed his fingernails. “...Sorry.” He repeated. David didn’t hear him of course.

David set the chair upright, then sat down in front of the computer. Jack watched him open a new document, then move the computer across from him at the table. After a prolonged moment of tense silence, David learned his throat and folded his hands. His knee was bouncing. “Type what you want to say.”

Jack hesitated, then crept around the table and turned the computer to face him. David’s breath hitched at the sight. He began to type. ‘I wasn’t trying to screw up your essay. I just want you to leave my home.’ He pushed the laptop closer to Davey.

Jack watched as Davey’s eyes scanned the screen, frowning. “...This is my home. I’ve been here for weeks. Why are you only showing yourself now?”

Jack sucked his teeth bitterly, then snatched the computer back. ‘cause your stupid cat gets blamed everytime i know stuff over i thoughts you’d be gone by now’ 

Davey scoffed at the message, oddly amused for a haunted guy.. “Oh. You were the one knocking stuff over. I owe Shakespeare and apology.”

Jack glared at him and typed out another message. ‘Leave my home!’

Davey shook his head, arms crossed and scowling. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. My lease says I have to stay for a year or I gotta pay more money. I’m not leaving, I literally can’t afford to, so you’re just gonna have to deal with having a roommate.”

It took Jack a moment to process what Davey just said. “I—, You—, wait…” He stammered, then reached for the computer. He typed another message and italicised it. ‘You wanna be a ghost’s roommate?’

Davey pursed his lips at the question. “Well, it can’t be much weirder than a dorm room, right?”

Jack’s jaw dropped. His fingers flew across the keyboard again. “‘Are you stupid?’

“Possibly.” Davey shrugged. Jack could see it in his eyes, David was second guessing himself. “...but I literally can’t afford to move, so we’re both gonna have to suck it up.”

Jack growled and typed in bright red, bolded, underlined words, ‘What if I scars ya out?’

Davey blinked at the message, raising one eyebrow skeptically. “You know, it’d be more intimidating if you spelled scare correctly.”

Jack slammed the laptop shut and Davey jumped. The lights flickered wildly and the kitchen cabinets slammed open and shut repeatedly. The windows fogged up and the temperature dropped.

Davey glanced around, seemingly unbothered. “...Is this what you did to the last guy? Did you ‘scars’ them out too?” His lips twitched into a smile and Jack felt a spark of irritation deep inside of him. He stormed away, and the chaos went with him.

Jack phased through the front door and marched down the hallway. The lightbulbs popped as he went, door handles rattled on their own. The building was reacting to his anger, but Jack didn't care enough to stop it. Mr. Harpie Jr didn’t honor their unspoken agreement, and Jack was going to set him straight.

He made it to the elevator and punched the down button. He heard the elevator zooming upwards at a dangerous speed. The doors opened with a ‘ding!’ and there was a woman clinging to the walls in the corner, terror in her eyes. Jack couldn’t bring himself to care.

He stepped into the elevator and the doors slammed shut behind him. The elevator shot downwards and the woman screamed the whole way down. The doors opened with another cherry ‘ding!’ and he stomped out, leaving the woman hyperventilating in the elevator.

Jack couldn’t believe David. Jack went through all that trouble to save his essay, and this asshole refused to leave?! What a dick! 

Jack phased through Mr. Harpie Jr’s office door. He found the new landlord on the phone, his feet on the desk. Jack yanked the phone from his hand and hung up, slamming it onto the desk. The light bulbs popped above them, and Jack punched the wall. The temperature dropped significantly and Mr. Harpie Jr yelped, scrambling up from his chair.

“What the hell?!” He exclaimed, running for the door. Jack grabbed the door handle a little to hard. The metal bent, then broke off, trapping Mr. Harpie in the room. Jack figured that would be enough to convince Mr. Harpie Jr to follow his deceased father’s superstitious ways. He left the phone for Mr. Harpie could call for someone to let him out, then Jack phased through the door and went on his way.

David would be gone by the end of the week, Jack was certain of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Davey wasn’t thrilled to be living with a ghost-demon-spirit thing, but what exactly was he supposed to do in this situation? It’s not like he could move out, Mr. Harpie seemed like a bit of a dick about the lease. Besides, it was a nice apartment! It was barely a five minute walk from campus, and the rent was ridiculously low. Although, now that Davey thought about it, the low rent might be because of the unexpected roommate. Whatever, as long as the ghost didn’t have blood oozing from the walls Davey didn’t really care. He was an early Gen Z kid, he wasn’t super invested in life yet, you know?

Davey pushed open the front doors to the building, juggling a few bags of groceries. Be barely got through the doorway when Mr. Harpie came hurrying up. “Mr. Jacobs!” He called with an anxious smile on his face.

“Um, hey sir.” Davey returned the awkward grin and guided the door shut behind him with his foot. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no, not at all!” Mr. Harpie waved it off. “I just wanted to know how the apartment is treating you so far?”

Davey blinked at him. Was he asking Davey about the ghost? Why did he look so nervous? This was probably about the ghost. “Um, fine, I guess.”

Mr. Harpie paused, lips pursed. “...That’s good.” He nodded tensely. “That’s good.” His shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh of relief. “If it’ll good on your end, I must be imagining things. Have a good day, Mr. Jacobs.” He hurried off without another word.

Davey watched him go, eyebrows furrowed. “He’s odd.” He mumbled, then headed towards the elevator. He struggled to press the up button without dropping all his things. The doors slid open with a cherry ‘Ding!’ and Davey stepped in.

The doors shut a little too fast, then the lights flickered. Davey groaned in irritation. “Oh no.” He watched in horror as each floor button lit up, one by one, in order.

Not willing to be defeated, Davey stood definitely, arms crossed, scowling as the elevator stopped at every single floor. On the sixth floor an old woman stepped in with him. She took one look at the buttons, lit up like the menorah on the ninth night, then glared at Davey. “What are you, five?”

Davey’s face burned. “Um, that wasn’t me.” He laughed awkwardly.

The woman huffed and pulled out her cell. While she wasn’t looking, Davey watched all the floors below them lit back up one by one. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he swore he heard snickering.

MAybe it wasn’t his imagination, because the woman looked up at the sound, then saw the buttons again. She shot Davey a pointed look. “Oh my god, you’re so immature!”

“It wasn’t me!” Davey defended helplessly, knowing she wouldn’t believe him.

The woman stormed out on the next floor, declaring she’d take the stairs instead.

As the doors slide shut, Davey heard the snickering laughter again. He scowled. “I can hear you laughing at me.” He snapped, glaring at the buttons like that was the ghost.

The laughter cut off abruptly.

\-----

Jack froze. David could hear him laughing? That was new, no one had heard him since he was alive. “...Can you hear me now?” He asked, but got no reply. God damnit!

Defeatedly, Jack crossed his arms and leaned on the wall. The lights flickered and the elevator picked up the pace, not stopping once until it reached their floor. Jack wasn’t in the mood to mess with David anymore. He just wanted to go home.

When the doors opened on their floor, David blinked in surprise. “Um, thanks?”

Jack grumbled and stormed down the hallway, the lights flickered as he passed. David hurried after him, looking at all the lights in awe. He was struggling to keep up due to all his groceries, but Jack didn’t slow down.

“Um, wait, Mr. Ghost? Uh—, Mrs. Ghost? Ms. Ghost? Non-Binary Ghost? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you are.” Davey stammered, talking to the flickering lights as if that was Jack.

Jack couldn’t help but scoff. He phased through the door and into his apartment. Davey was quick after him, unlocking the door and shutting it behind him.

“Seriously, ghost roomie? Can you like, sit still for two minutes?” Davey complained, dumping his bags on the dinner table with a huff. “I don’t even know your name.”

Jack’s eye twitched at the comment. David didn’t need to know his name, he’d be gone soon enough. Jack’s radio, which sat in the corner of the kitchen, turned on. It was reacting to Jack’s frustration, he knew it was, but not in the way he was used to.

“—My—,” It changed channels. “—Name is—,” New channel. “—Jackson—,” The radio turned off, leaving both Jack and Davey staring at it.

“That’s new.” Jack muttered, feeling slightly betrayed by the radio. He hadn’t told it to do that, it was just reacting! Maybe deep down Jack wanted him to know. Either way, it pissed Jack off, so he looked for something fragile to push onto the floor, but this damn college kid only had paper plates, so Jack just chucked a pencil across the room.

David barely reacted to the pencil. “...So Jackson, huh? That was certainly a creative way to tell me.”

Jack slumped into a chair at the dinner table, in front of the newly bought groceries, then pushed a milk jug off the edge, glaring at Davey.

Davey watched it fall. “...Why do you keep knocking stuff over? You’re not gonna ‘scar’ me out.”

Jack’s eye twitched, and the lights flickered again. He pushed a bag of chips off.

Davey sighed and picked up Jack’s mess. He put the milk in the fridge, then the chips in the cabinet. “You’re gonna have to stop pushing stuff over. It’s inconsiderate. You’re not the only one who lives—, uh, resides here anymore.”

That only irritated Jack more, so he pushed a loaf of bread off the table.

Davey crossed his arms at the bread, as if that was Jack. “Okay, that’s just rude.”

\-------

Davey sat in the Starbucks nearest to his apartment, laptop open and staring at an empty google search bar. He wasn’t really sure what to search. What was he supposed to type? ‘Jackson dead 21 Dover Place apartment building?’ Davey didn’t think that’d get a whole lot of results.

He would have done this at the apartment, but Davey didn’t want Jackson staring over his shoulder while he researched him. It felt almost intrusive to be googling Jackson, but he needed to know he wasn’t sharing an apartment with a mass murderer who was shot and killed by the cops during his arrest or something, you know?

If you’d research a living roommate, you should definitely research a dead one. Unfortunately, Davey wasn’t having much luck, so instead he tried researching the building’s history.

He found an old article about newsboys or something, but doubted that had anything to do with Jackson. No, Davey was looking for something more along the lines of a murder in his apartment.

He took a sip of his coffee and stared at the screen. There weren’t any murders in the building, which Davey thought he should be glad for, but it left a lot of questions. Questions he didn’t have time to answer, either. Class started in fifteen minutes, and it was time to start walking.

He couldn’t focus at all as the professor droned on and on about god knows what. Something about classic literature, Davey thought. He wasn’t sure. His leg bounced impatiently, he wanted to go back to the apartment and just ask Jackson, but would that be a good idea? He didn’t what to provoke the spirit.

The brought up a whole new issue; Davey didn’t know what might provoke the spirit. He didn’t want to walk on eggshells in his own home. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even put up his rainbow flag yet because he didn’t know what age Jackson came from. For all he knew, he had a homophobic ghost-demon roommate!

The class was over before Davey knew it, and he hadn’t learned a single thing. Damnit.

When Davey got home, Shakespeare was sitting on the couch quietly. The tv was on, flipping between channels, and the remote was floating in the air. Davey could see the slight steady ruffle in Shakespeare's fur. Was Jack petting him? It looked like it, but Davey couldn’t tell.

“Um, hey Jackson. What’re you watching?” Davey asked, dropping his backpack by the door and kicking off his shoes.

Of course, he got no answer, but the remote fell to the couch cushion. The news was on, and some reporter was talking about what stupid thing Trump said this time. Davey couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“God, what’d the cheeto do this time?” Davey groaned as he settled on the far end of the couch, trying not to sit on the ghost.

He heard a distinct laugh, sharp and bitter, from his left. It startled Davey, but he quickly relaxed. 

“So can you talk, cause I keep hearing you laugh, but you never talk.” Davey stared at where he assumed the ghost was, beside Shakespeare.

He didn’t get a vocal answer, but the tv started changing channels. The remote didn’t move. 

“—Don’t—,” New channel. “—Know how—,” The tv turned off.

Davey pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “Ok… so you don’t know who to talk?”

The tv turned back on. “—Make—” New channel. “You heard—,” New channel. “—Me—,” Jackson muted the tv, but left it on some talk show.

Davey gasped. “Oh, you don’t know how to make me hear you! Okay, but you can mess with the radio and tv to communicate?”

The tv unmuted and changed channels. “—Can’t—,” New channel. “—Control the—,” New channel. “—television—,” New channel. “—Does it on its own—,” The tv went mute again.

“...So, you can communicate with the tv, but it just kinda does it on its own?” Davey quirked an eyebrow at the tv. It didn’t make much sense. “Wait, so like… you don’t fully know who to control your ghost powers?

The tv unmuted. “—yes—.” It turned off, and the lights flickered.

Davey pointed to the remote, an idea striking him. “But you can move objects?”

The remote floated, as if to prove him right.

“Okay, I have an idea.” Davey shot off the couch and bolted to the bedroom. He grabbed one of the few unpacked boxes and ripped it open. He pushed the rainbow flag off the top of the other contents and found what he was looking for; a small hand held whiteboard and a black marker.

As he moved to close the box, the rainbow flag was lifted from the box by an invisible force. A spike of panic hit him. Davey yanked it away form Jackson and shoved it back into the box. “That’s not important!” He yelped, then held out the whiteboard and marker. “Here! Jackson, you can write on this!”

There was a pause, and Davey’s heart was pounding against his ribcage, then Jackson hesitantly took to the whiteboard and marker. The cap was pulled off the marker, then Jackson tested it on the board. It worked.

“See? Now you can talk to me without the tv!” Davey grinned awkward, leaning against the box, trying to block Jackson from getting near it. Somehow he doubted it would actually do anything to stop him.

The marker scribbled something onto the board, then the board spun in mid-air to face Davey. It read in horrible, messy handwriting; ‘Yous can just call me Jack.”

Davey chuckled uncomfortably. “Right. Jack. Got it.”

\------

Jack instantly fell in love with the whiteboard. It made life—, uh, death so much easier. He didn’t have a lot of space to write, and he had to admit he wasn’t good at writing, but hey, he’d take what he could get! It’s not like he got a formal education in life, after all. He was too busy selling papers to go to school!

Surprisingly, Davey didn’t bother him as much as Jack thought he would. Davey brought all sorts of cool stuff, like a tv for instance. Jack really liked the tv, it was so much better than the radio, and Jack didn’t know what Netflix was entirely, but my god, he adored it.

Davey was always coming and going, class, work, family stuff, friend stuff, etc. Then half the time he was home, he was sleeping! Jack didn’t sleep or leave, ever, so it hardly felt like Davey was there!

Jack thought he could get used to this, besides, it was only a year before Davey was gone. Then things would go back to normal, although he would be sad to lose the Netflix. Whatever, time would blur like it always did, a year would pass like a few months at most, then Jack would be alone again.

The lights flickered at that thought. Okay, maybe Jack didn’t entirely like that idea. He liked the conversation, and he liked that he was discovering more ghost powers with Davey around, and he liked that they actually had furniture. Shakespeare wasn’t so bad either, but it was kind of creepy that he’d somehow always know exactly where Jack was standing. Sometime the cat would just stare at him. It sent shivers down Jack’s spine.

Whatever, maybe this was better than being alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Netflix was a lot of fun, Jack decided. He’d already watched all of something called The Good Place. He moved onto other shows after the last episode, and quickily discovered a catogrogy called “LGBTQ Shows.”

He didn’t know what that meant, but after reading the descriptions on a few of those shows, he figured it out. For a long moment all Jack could do was stare at the screen. He knew about gay people, obviously, it’s not like they were new. They weren’t invented yesterday. However what was new was the idea of them in public. The idea of things, shows, books, etc for them, about them.

Jack was having trouble processing it. He couldn’t bring himself to press play, all he could do was stare at a show title, Queer Eye. Davey was in the bedroom doing school work, and Jack just couldn’t hit play. He couldn’t. He wanted to, but he just couldn’t will himself to do it.

Jack knew he was dead, and there's nothing Davey could do to him if he was discovered watching such a show, but the sheer panic it sent through Jack’s spirit kept him from hitting play. 

You see, Jack liked boys. Simple as that. He always did, even in life. That was a secret though, something he kept close to his chest. It was something he hide by hitting on girls like Katherine, and refusing to sleep in the bunkhouse with the boys. He slept on the roof to avoid any unexpected reveals.

It was a secret very few knew in Jack’s lifetime. Crutchie knew, but only because he was the same. They had a brief fling in their youth, but it kinda ended with a bang. 

From a gun.

Oh.

The memories Jack had lost over a century ago came rushing back, flooding his brain with all the terror and pain he’d been sheltered from before. He remembered walking down the street, hand in hand with Crutchie. It was dark, and the street was empty. They thought they were safe.

Then there was a man with a pistol.

Then a shouted slur.

Then a gunshot.

Context clues suggested it hit Jack, but now he could have sworn he remembered Crutchie getting shot too. That couldn’t be right, could it? Jack remembered Crutchie at his funeral. He was sure of that much! He stood beside him as they lowered the coffin into the ground.

Jack’s head pounded, this felt wrong. He didn’t know what was real. Did Crutchie get shot? Did he live? Was he okay? What happened? The light bulbs above him popped, sending sharp plastic shards flying across the room. Jack flinched and the temperature lowered. The entire apartment rattled.

Gunshot.

Gunshot.

Gunshot.

All Jack could hear was gunshots, echoing in his ears a century too late.

“Jack?!” Someone shouted. It might have been Davey, but Jack almost thought it was Crutchie’s horror filled cry.

Was he on the couch in front of the tv, or was he on the concrete bleeding out from a gunshot? Was Davey standing in front of him or was it Crutchie? Was it dark because the light bulbs burst or was it late at night in the New York streets, 1900? Where was he? It’s like the world around him was flickering between the apartment and the street.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block it out, but all he could hear was gunshots.

\------

Davey ran from the bedroom when he heard the lights burst. The temperature had dropped, causing Davey to shiver. The tv was flickering back and forth between white noise and static to the Netflix menu for Queer Eye.

“Jack?” He called, lancing around the apartment. Shakespeare was on the floor, hissing at the couch like it threatened him. “Jack, are you okay?”

Something appeared in the corner of Davey’s eye for barely a moment. He whipped around to face it, but it was gone. 

“Gunshot.” An echoey voice said in a choked sob.

Davey carefully picked up Shakespeare and hugged him close. “...Jack? Is that you?”

“Gunshot!” The voice cried out.

Davey saw it that time, for barely a millisecond a figure appeared on the couch. It was black and white and man shaped, but so blurry Davey couldn’t make out any details, but it had to be Jack, right?”

Davey dropped Shakespeare, and the cat ran off. He hurried in front of where the figure had been and waved in front of where his face was. “Jack? Jack! What’s going on?”

The chaos stopped abruptly, and Davey straightened himself out, glancing around for any sign of the ghost. “...Jack, is everything okay?”

He got no response.

“I heard you, you said gunshot? Are you okay?” Davey glanced back at the tv, the Queer Eye menu was still up. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Jack finds an LGBTQ show and has some kind of meltdown? It didn’t seem great.

When Davey turned away from the tv, then whiteboard was floating in front of him with a message scrawled on it. ‘I’m okay.’

Davey pursed his lips and crossed his arms. His feet shifted uncomfortable, nudging the broken shards of light bulbs on the floor. “...Are you sure? What caused all that?”

The words were erased quickly, then Davey watched as the floating marker wrote something else. The board spun for Davey to see. ‘Netflix.’

“Netflix?” Davey repeated, raising an eyebrow. He pointed hesitant towards the tv. “You mean… Queer Eye?”

He got another scribbled response. ‘I don’t like that word.’

Davey paused, processing what Jack was trying to say. “The Q word?”

‘Yes’ Jack wrote.

“Okay. It’s okay.” Davey grabbed the remote off the couch. “Let’s watch something else then.”

‘Nothing with guns.’ Came the response.

“I’m sure we can find something calm to watch.” Davey assured him, brushing shards of broken light bulbs off the couch. He could clean it up later, but for now keeping Jack relaxed seemed like the best idea.

Davey sat down and started flipping through shows. It seemed Jack had discovered the LGBTQ shows. God, Jack having a freak out with that category pulled up was definitely not a good sign. Davey paused on a title, Bob Ross: Beauty Is Everywhere.

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, Davey hit play.

He felt the cushion beside him dip, presumably as Jack sat down. The surviving lights were flickering on occasion. Jack was probably still a little freaked out, but Davey was pretty sure Bob Ross could cure that.

The flickering stopped about five minutes into the first episode.

\------

Okay, so Jack officially loved Bob Ross. Sometimes Davey would watch it with him, but most days he’d be in class and Jack would watch by himself. It made him miss Medda, sitting backstage, painting backdrops. It felt like home. It made the place that was once truly his home feel like home again.

Jack could almost imagine himself with a brush in hand, back in 1899, painting Santa Fe. Obviously Jack would never make it to Santa Fe now, he couldn’t leave the building, but Bob Ross showed him new places every episode. It was therapeutic, in a way.

Jack found paper and pencils one day, Davey left them out on the table, so he took them. He followed Bob Ross the best he could without paint. Jack never got to take art classes in life, this was a close as he could get. He ended up with a few beautiful sketches of landscapes, arching trees, towering mountains, glittering lakes, and other such beauties.

God, Jack loved the paper and pencils. It was so much better than what he did in life. The boys would give him their unsold papers and he’d draw on those with charcoal he stole from the lodging house fireplace. It was messy, with printed words under his drawings, but this felt so clean and professional!

It was probably some of the best sketches Jack had ever done!

The door opened and Davey came in, looking exhausted. He dropped his stuff on the table and moved to the couch. He took one look at the tv, then looked down at the floating paper, pencil, and book Jack was using as a hard surface.

“Oh damn, you can draw.” Davey observed.

Jack instinctively held the paper to his chest to hide it, but it occurred to him too late that Jack was invisible, and it probably just looked like Jack was holding it up for Davey to see better. Damnit.

“That’s really good, are you an artist?” Davey asked, leaning on the back of the couch to peer down at the pencil work.

Jack grabbed the whiteboard from beside him on the couch and scribbled down a response. “Not really.”

“Oh, come on!” Davey waved it off dismissively. “You can draw like that, but you’re ‘not really’ and artist?”

Jack rolled his eyes and wrote another response. “I don’t even have paint or real supplies.”

Davey pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I’ll be back.” He spun on his heels and help the apartment with barely another word.

Jack didn’t think much of it until Davey returned with a shopping bag labels ‘Michaels.’ He dropped it on the couch, and Jack wandered closer curiously, holding his whiteboard.

‘What’s in the bag?’ He wrote.

“Paint.” Davey’s lips twitched into a smile. “Canvas, brushes, the works.”

Jack needed a moment to process that. ‘...Paint?’ He wrote. ‘For me?’

“Yep, for you.” Davey pulled out a package of acrylic paints and held the out in Jack’s general direction.

Jack’s face felt hot. Davey bought him paints? For him? He actually spent money on Jack? Real money? No one had ever done that before! The other newsies just gave him valueless old newspapers, and he had to steal charcoal from fires! Davey bought paint! Like actually bought paint, for Jack. 

Jack was awestruck, completely flustered. The lights flickered as Jack’s eyes filled with tears. Davey was still holding out the paints. Jack reached for them, but fell short, instead he pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back a sob. He felt overwhelmed. He was definitely going to cry.

“He bought me paints.” Jack managed to choke out. “He bought me paints.” He repeated, his hands trembling. “Oh my god.”

Jack snatched them form Davey’s hand before he could change his mind, hugging them to his chest. He grabbed the whiteboard and scribbled down, ‘Thank you! thank you! thank you!’

Davey offered a gentle smile, then held out the rest of the bag. “I’m glad you like them, um, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Jack watched in stunned silence as Davey retreated to the bedroom. He immediately broke down crying in joy, and thanks god Davey couldn’t hear him. He hadn’t touched paints in a century and no one had ever spent money on him. Ever.

He’d never had paints since Medda, and she always had something she wanted him to paint, now he had paint and was free to paint what he wanted to. It was so overwhelming and Jack just couldn’t keep the emotion in.

The lights flickered wildly as Jack turned on Bob Ross, intending to put those paints to good use.


	4. Chapter 4

When Davey came home from class the tv was off, but there were two painted canvases laid out on the dinner table, still wet. Davey dropped his things next to the door and kicked off his shoes. He came closer to examine them.

The first was a desert landscape with a beautiful setting in with pink, orange and yellow abstract style. Davey’s hand hovered over the canvas, but he didn’t dare touch. It was flawlessly done. Jack obviously spent a lot of time on it.

He looked to the other painting. It was of what looked like a late 1800’s city, complete horse drawn carriages. There were a few boy in caps, holding newspapers and selling to passerbys. It had a warm, welcoming feel to it. The faces were all too diverse to be random, one boy had a crutch, another had a slingshot, and another had a comically huge pair of glasses. These were people Jack knew, most likely.

They were both incredible, clearly done by someone with talent. Davey made a mental note to buy more canvases for Jack.

“Jack?” Davey called without looking up from the second painting.

The whiteboard floated in from the kitchen, ‘Yes?’ It read.

“These are amazing! How long did they take you?” He enthused, gesturing to the second painting in particular.

Jack took a moment to scribble down another response. ‘About a day.’

Davey pointed to a blank wall in the kitchen. “Can I hang them up when they dry?”

There was a long pause before Jack wrote another response. ‘You want to hang my paintings?’

“Yeah, wouldn’t they look nice on that wall there?” Davey pointed back at the wall again. “I’ll get some more canvases next time I go shopping and you can make more. Maybe we’ll switch the old ones for new ones every now and then? Do you need more paints too?”

The lights flickered for a moment, then stopped. Jack scrawled down another response. ‘Yes please.’

“Great!” Davey gave a wide grin. “I’ll put some hooks up so we can hang them later!”

\------

Jack couldn’t stop staring at his paintings on the walls. It was oddly satisfying to see his work pinned to the wall like in his own personal gallery. Sure, Medda displayed his work, but no one was focused on the backdrop in a theater. Here his paintings were front and center.

Davey kept his word. He bought more canvases and Jack made more paintings, and stroke by stroke he got better and better. Jack didn’t feel as trapped as he once did. Sure, he still couldn’t leave the building, but he wasn’t sitting in an empty apartment with a barely functioning radio anymore.

He had company, a cat, Netflix, and his od passion back. He almost felt alive. Jack had completely given up on chasing Davey ut, there was no point now. He’d be losing more than he was gaining. He kinda didn’t want Davey to go at all.

If Davey left, Jack lost all these new things that made him feel alive again. He even didn't want to lose the cat. Shakespeare might be creepy, and always staring at him, but he was a good kitty.

They were a while into their roommate situation when Jack walked into the living room to find Davey pushing the tv back from the wall, grunting with effort. For a moment Jack felt panic spike through him. Was Davey moving out? Was the year up already? Jack wasn’t good at keeping track of time, months felt like weeks, it was entirely possible it was over all too soon.

The lights flickered, and Davey paused his work. “Jack?”

Jack scribbled down a question with haste. ‘What are you doing?’

Davey gave a sheepish smile. “Um, I was talking to Mr. Harpie yesterday...”

“No.” Jack muttered in horror. “Oh no, he’s leaving.” He hurried to write a reply, but Davey kept talking.

“I asked if I could do something about these white walls, and he said I could redecorate if I wanted to.” Davey straightened himself out, and gesture up and down at the wall behind the tv. “I thought a mural would look good right here, don’t you think? I figured you could pick what it looked like, and I would buy the paint, and I could even help out if you want?”

Jack stilled, his marker pressed to the whiteboard surface, mid-word. A mural? He wanted Jack to paint a mural? He wanted something permanent on the wall, not to be replaced with something better a week later like the canvases? Davey wanted Jack’s work on that wall, forever? Jack was having trouble processing that. Even Medda’s backdrops were interchangeable.

Jack erased his reply and rewrote. ‘I’d really like that.’

\-------

Davey watched the floating brush move against the wall, leaving a deliberate, graceful stroke of red paint. They were about halfway done, working to quiet music from Jack’s old radio. The channel changed on occasion, but usually just when the song sucked. 

The mural was coming along beautifully, probably because Jack was doing most of the work. All Davey did was lay base colors. Then Jack would do textures, highlights, and shadows on top of it.

The sketch Jack showed him was of a bustling 1800’s city square, young poor boys roaming the streets, selling newspapers. Jack seemed to have a thing about newsboys, and it reminded Davey of that article he saw but didn’t read. Maybe it did have something to do with Jack after all. He made a mental note to look into it later, but for now, painting.

“You’re really good at this.” Davey muttered as he finished his ugly grey blob of a base color. Jack would fix it later.

The whiteboard was plucked from the couch and Jack scribbled a reply. ‘Thanks.’

“So, you got a thing about newsboys or something?” Davey asked, quirking an eyebrow.

‘They’re called newsies. I was one.’ Jack wrote.

Davey fell short, staring at the whiteboard, then the young boys in the painting. “Dude, how old are you?”

‘When I died? 19.’ Jack scribbled down.

“Oh.” Davey went deathly silence. “That’s really young.”

To be honest, Davey was horrified. Jack died before he even reached twenty! That’s horrible! Davey turned back to face the wall, not wanting to stare at Jack, or rather, his whiteboard.

“...How’d you die?” He asked, trying to sound casual, refusing to look away from the wall until he heard the scribbling stop.

‘Gunshot.’ 

That made sense. Davey didn’t press for further information, it wasn’t his business. “Thanks for telling me.”

They stopped paint for the day after that. They’d pick it back up tomorrow, but Davey needed to get to class. He changed out of his paint covered jeans and headed off.

He didn’t pay any attention to the professor. He was on his laptop in the back of the class, googling newsies. Apparently there was some obscure disney musical movie from 1992 about them. He didn’t bother watching it. Instead he read more factual articles about newsies.

He read about the strike, led by Jackson Kelly. He wondered if it was his Jack. Then Davey wondered when Jack became his Jack. He scoffed at himself. At least he knew when and where Jack came from now.

He scrolled through articles, staring at the pictures that accompanied them. He recognized some of the boys, the one with the crutch and the one with the slingshot were in a few pictures.

Then Davey discovered the lodging house. It explained a lot, like why Jack was in his apartment building of all places. He also recognized it as the background of Jack’s mural. Jack was painting his home, Davey realised depressingly.

The last article Davey read very nearly broke him. It had a picture of crying boys in their sunday best standing over a coffin. The article detailed the boy’s death.

‘Feb 23rd, 1900, Newsie Murdered.’ The title read. The article was published in 2001, detailing the unjust murder of Jackson Kelly, who was shot and killed in homophobic hate act. According to Jack’s apparent partner, the attacker shouted ‘Queers!’ and shot Jack in the head directly after.

Davey could only stare at the screen. It was horrible, disgusting. It sickened Davey to think about Jack being attacked like that, especially for that reason. He didn’t deserve that. Davey closed his laptop and decided then and there he wouldn’t bring this up to Jack. there was no need to resurface painful memories.

Instead, when Davey returned home the first thing he did was hang his rainbow flag on the bedroom door. If Jack had thoughts on it, he didn’t share them.

\-----

It was past midnight and Davey was asleep, so Jack wondered the apartment by himself. He found Davey’s laptop left unattended on the table, and decided he might as well explore the internet. Davey never minded when he did, after all, Jack barely knew how to use the damn thing.

When he opened the computer a previous page reloaded, and Jack was left staring at a wall of text, some kind of article. He didn’t bother reading it, it was probably for a class or something. Jack switched tabs, but then noticed the title of the other tab.

‘Feb 23rd, 1900, Newsie Murdered.’

Jack froze. “Oh no.” He clicked the tab and scrolled down the article without reading it, just skimming the wall of text. He landed on a photo halfway down, his newsies in their sunday best, putting Jack to rest. Crutchie was there, front and center, crying his eyes out. Racetrack was putting on a brave face. Was that Spot Collon? Jack didn’t remember seeing him at the funeral.

His fingers trembled on the keyboard. Jack scrolled back to the top and started reading. It was some kind of article detailing fatal homophobic hate crimes throughout the decades, from 1900 to 2000, comparing and contrasting them. Jack’s murder was the first one listed.

As tense as the article made him, Jack let out a sigh of relief to see Crutchie alive in the photo. For a while he wasn’t sure, he thought there was another gunshot, but maybe he was wrong. It was possible, he supposed.

The lights flickered on and off, reacting to Jack’s distress. He scrolled through the article, skimming the other examples, then he landed on one from 1978. It described a young woman baring a rainbow flag being beaten to death. Jack felt sick, but managed to read the rest.

It talked about the rainbow flag being adopted as a symbol of LGBTQ people everywhere. Jack furrowed his eyebrows at the flag on the screen, then glanced to the one hanging off of Davey’s bedroom door. The one on the screen had a pink stripe over the red, but Davey’s didn’t. Did they mean the same thing still? Even without the pink stripe?

The more important question was did this mean Davey was gay? Jack stood up and crossed the room. He stood in front of the flag, staring it down. Shakespeare trotted over and sat at his feet, blinking up at Jack curiously. Jack ignored the cat.

Jack phased through the door, stepping into Davey’s bedroom. He was asleep under the covers. The lights flickered on and off, and apparently that was enough to wake Davey. Groaning, his eyes blinked open. “Jack? Are you messing with the lights?” He asked, voice groggy from sleep.

Jack, feeling guilty for waking him, phased back through the door. He watched the lights go out through the door crack, and went back to the laptop.

Unfortunately, Davey followed. He pushed open the door and stepped out, looking tired and concerned. “Is something wrong? Were you trying to wake me up or was that an accident?”

Jack glanced around for his whiteboard, but didn’t see it. Damnit, where did he leave that thing?

Davey gravatied closer to the open laptop. He took one look at the screen and grimace. “Oh. You saw that, huh?”

Jack circled the room, looking for that damn whiteboard. It was nowhere to be found. Had Davey moved it before bed? Fuck.

Davey gently closed the laptop and sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “Are you okay?

Jack couldn't help the bitter laugh the left his lips. No, he wasn't okay. He was dead. He was shot in the head, and now he couldn’t find that stupid fucking whiteboard!

Davey scowled. “Jack, are you ignoring me? Is this like a silent treatment kind of deal?”

“Just, I just can’t find the goddamn whiteboard!” The lights flickered as Jack checked the couch, still not sign of it.

Of course Davey didn’t hear him. “I’m sorry I googled you. I was just curious. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. If you’re worried I’m homophobic or something, I promise I’m not. I’m gay too.” Davey held up both hands, as if in surender. “So, are you mad at me?”

Jack was getting frustrated, the temperature dropped. Where was that fucking whiteboard? He checked under the couch. No sign of it. Jack groaned. “I’m not mad! I mean, I am! I don’t know, okay? Just let me find the fucking whiteboard!” He whipped around to face Davey, glaring.

Davey was wide eyed, staring blankly. “Uh, Jack?”

Jack rolled his eyes and went back to looking. He glanced to Shakespeare. “Did you move my whiteboard?” The cat hissed at him and ran off. Jack threw his hands up in offense. “It’s rude to hiss at people!”

“Jack!” Davey shouted, as if you get his attention.

Jack whipped back around to face him. “Jesus, you’re impatient!”

Davey was pulling at his hair, mouth hanging open. “Jack, I can hear you!”

Jack went still as he processed the words. “...What?”


	5. Chapter 5

Jack’s voice was echoey and a little distorted, but Davey could still make out his ridiculously thick New York accent. “You can ‘ear me?” Jack asked, breathless, barely above a whisper.

Davey cleared his throat awkwardly and gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah. I can hear you.”

“Can you… see me?” It sounded like Jack’s voice cracked, but he couldn’t tell. It was far too distorted to be certain.

Davey shook his head. “No.”

There was a long silence, then the lights flickered wildly. The temperature dropped. Shakespeare hissed, his fur bristling. “How can you ‘ear me? No one’s heard me for—, Fuck! What year is it?”

“2019.” Davey answered automatically.

“—Over a hundred years!” Jack’s voice got louder and the radio turned on, playing nothing but static.

Davey shuddered and took a steadying breath. “Jack… You need to calm down.”

“I can’t.” Jack sounded like he hyperventilating, his voice was choked and frightened. It broke Davey’s heart a little.

“Okay, just—,” Davey cut himself off, then moved hastily to the couch. He sat down and pat the cousin beside him. “Sit with me.”

If he did it, Davey couldn’t tell, but Jack’s voice did sound closer now. “I can’t breathe.” Jack croaked out.

Davey grimaced. “...Like in a dead way or in a panicky way?”

“Panicky! Panicky for sure.” 

“Okay… why?” Davey asked cautiously. He didn’t see any reason this was a bad thing, although he supposed it could be the whole hate crime thing on the computer.

“I don’t know!” The lights flickered frantically, then that same blurred figure as before appeared for barely a second, then vanished. It was fuzzy, and obscured, but it could only be Jack. “I just—, No one’s heard me in over a hundred years and I guess I—,”

“Got startled?” Davey offered.

There was a long pause, then Jack answered in a tight tone. “Yeah.”

The lights weren’t flickering anymore, and Davey took that as a good sign. “Are you okay now?”

A cold gust of air touched Davey’s arm, almost like a hand, gripping his sleeve. It vanished a moment later, leaving Davey’s bare arm feeling like ice. “I’m okay. Thanks Dave.”

Davey moved his hand to sit on the couch cushion, where he presumed Jack was sitting. “Anytime.”

\-------

Jack’s speaking voice was far different than how he wrote and typed. He mispronounced things and shortened words. It was kind of charming to listen to, but also hard to understand at first. Either way, Davey liked it.

Davey could tell Jack wasn’t used to being heard. Sometimes Jack would say good morning to him, and Davey would respond, and it startled Jack almost every time. He’d yelp, or drop what he was holding, or somethings the lights would flicker.

He’d get used to it, Davey was sure of it. They never did find that whiteboard again, but they didn’t particularly care either. They had no more use for it.

They were working on the mural again on Davey’s day off. It was very nearly done. Davey didn’t have anything else to do since he sucked at anything but base colors, so he sat on the couch and watched Jack’s floating paintbrush work. He was finishing a boy’s face with intense care. It was the boy with the crutch.

“So these are people you knew?” Davey asked, his eyes lingering on a mean looking, short boy in a red shirt.

The paintbrush jerked, signalling he startled Jack again. Jack cleared this throat, then spoke. “Yeah.” The paintbrush spun in the air, using the handle to point to the crippled boy. “This is Crutchie. Good guy, swear that crutch sold a thousand papes a week all by itself, and it could tell ya the weather too.” He pointed to the boy in the red shirt. “That’s Spot Collon. He ran Brooklyn but ‘e was okay when push came to shove. Dug us out of a hole during the strike.”

Davey quirked an eyebrow. “Like, literally or…?”

“We were getting our asses kicked and Spot showed up to bail us out. Without him, we woulda lost.” Jack elaborated, spinning his brush back around to continue on Crutches face.

“Right, and who’s that girl in the orange skirt?” Davey pointed to a young lady holding a pen and paper in the background.

“Katherine Pulitzer. Her father ran The World, but she was on our side in the strike.” Jack added a few final strokes on Crutchie’s face, then crossed the room to finish the lodging house sign. The newspaper under his feet crunched despite him not being visible.

“And you were their leader?” Davey glanced across the room to where Shakespeare was sniffing a dirty paint roller.

“Nah, nah, I was a blowhard.” Jack waved his brush dismissively. “We all worked together, no one really led.”

“...Okay but most of the articles I read said the boys considered you the leader.” Davey shrugged, a smile twitching into his lips.

The brush froze in the air, then Jack cleared his throat and continued painting. “‘S probably ‘cause I was the oldest, you know?”

Davey rolled his eyes in amusement. “The articles also said you led them to victory.”

“Ya see now I couldn’t have done that without Katherine, or the fellas.” Jack defended, waving his paintbrush wildly at Davey.

A splosh of paint flicked off the bristles and landed on Davey’s cheek. Davey grimace and wiped it off. “Okay, first of all, watch where you fling that thing. Second of all, so you admit you led?”

Jack went silent for a moment, then Davey watched the brush dip back into the paint, then be pulled out. It was dripping bright red paint. The brush reared back, and Davey knew what was coming. He leapt from the couch and ran behind it, one hand held out in front of him, asking Jack not to.

“Don’t you dare!” He warned.

Jack flicked the brush and Davey flinched as red paint splattered across his face and t-shirt. Pursing his lips, Davey wiped the paint off his eyelids and flicked it in Jack’s vague direction. He either missed, or it went straight through Jack and onto the newspapers protecting the floor.

“...Well you missed.” Jack barked a laugh.

“It’d be easier if I could see my target!” Davey shouted, then marched to the paint can. He stuck his entire hand into the red paint and held it up. “Alright, come here you bastard.”

Jack scoffed and the paintbrush clattered to the floor as he dropped it. “Good luck finding me!”

Davey groaned ran after Jack, following the sound of muffled footsteps. “Jack, get back here!”

\------

“Good mornin’!” Jack called to Davey as the mortal trudged from his bedroom, looking exhausted. He was wearing sweatpants that hung lown on his hips, and a shirt that was far too big for his lithe frame. Davey still had a smear of red across his cheek from yesterday. 

“Morning.” Davey muttered in response.

Jack choked on thin air, having completely forgotten Davey could hear him now. God, this was going to take some getting used to. 

Davey must have heard him sputtering, because he chuckled as he poured himself some coffee. “Don’t hurt yourself, Jack.” He warned with a tired, amused smile.

Jack tried not to linger on it too long. Davey was a good looking guy, especially with his hair all bed-tossed and uncombed. Davey was kind, and thoughtful, and smart, and well spoken, and Jack was, well, Jack. If he was being honest, this petty crush was throwing him off even more than Davey being able to hear him. Perhaps the crush was a result of Davey hearing him, maybe Jack was just desperate for human interaction. It had, after all, been a century.

“Haha, Davey, very funny.” Jack grumbled as he fell onto the couch to stare at the mural. It was so close to done, just a few final details and they could finally take the newspaper off the floor.

Davey didn’t speak again until he was halfway done with his coffee. “...Why do you think I can hear you now?”

Jack tapped his fingers rhymically against the couch armrest. He pursed his lips. “...Good question.”

Davey hummed in response, took another drink of his coffee, refilled his mug, then sighed. “So, you got an answer?”

Jack paused to think about it, then shrugged. “I dunno? Maybe it’s because you’ve stayed in the apartment longer than anyone else? Maybe you’re some kind of psychic? How should I know?”

“So you really have no idea?” Davey frowned at his coffee, swirling the cup in the air and watching the liquid stir.

Jack slumped further into the couch, practically melting into it. “Nope.”

Davey set down his mug and looked in Jack’s general direction. “You said no ones heard you in a century?”

“Uh… Yeah, not really.” Jack sat up to look back at Davey. Even if Davey couldn’t see him, it felt more polite to make eye contact rather than stare at the ceiling.

“Not really, or not ever?” Davey quirked and eyebrow.

Jack fell back into the couch. Politeness be damned, it was more comfortable this way. “Well, there was this one time I think someone heard me.”

“You think?”

Jack cared his fingers through his hair. “Uh, yeah… They were tearing down the lodging house and there was this worker taking the door off the hinges, and I yelled at him to stop because Racetrack broke the other door and we all had to pitch in to fix it cause otherwise winter would roll around and we’d all freeze and—, Well it’s not important, we didn’t freeze to death. Anyway, I didn’t want him to take down the door ‘cause I spent like half a weeks wages on it!” Jack ranted, gesturing with his hands wildly even thought he knew Davey couldn’t see it. “I woulda paid less, but some of the younger boys couldn’t afford to pay their share so I—, I’m off topic. So the fella was taking down the door and I yelled at him to stop. He did, then he looked around, and asked his fellow workers if they said something.”

“He heard you.” Davey concluded.

“I mean, I think so.” Jack shrugged. “None of the other workers said anything so it must’ve been me he heard, right?”

“It seems like it.”

Jack sat back up and leaned his elbows on the armrest to look at Davey. “Stuff just seems to happen when I’m angry, ya know? Lights go crazy, the temperature drops, doors fly open…” He sighed and picked fluff off the couch to distract himself. “I can’t really control it, it just happens.”

Davey stood from the dinner table and leaned over the back of the couch, he was watching the fluff balls be flicked onto the floor. “Okay, so maybe it’s anger that caused me to hear you? You were frustrated before, right?”

Jack chewed the inside of his cheek. Davey was only partly right, he was feeling a lot of things when it happened. Between the frustration, the sorrow, the confusion, the relief from seeing that rainbow flag Davey hung up, from finding out what it meant… Honestly, Jack had so many conflicting emotions going through his head at the time he could barely stop to process even one. 

Jack sighed. “Yeah, I guess… But that’s not all I was feelin’, you know? Besides, I’m not angry now, and ya can still hear me.”

Davey nodded thoughtfully. “Hm… fair point.” He circled the couch and sat down. He was sitting in Jack’s legs, so Jack moved them off the couch. “What about moving stuff when you mean to move stuff? When’d you first figure that out?”

Jack crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. It had been a few decades, and his memory wasn’t fantastic. “Um… A couple moved in, real love birds, first folks I had move in here… I remember glarin’ at ‘em real hard cause I didn’t want ‘em here. Then I pushed over some stuff, I think it was a vase.” Jack frowned at the memory. “...It broke.” He added guiltily.

Davey gave a sharp laugh in response. “Oh, that checks out!”

“Yeah, sounds like me, doesn’t it?” Jack couldn’t help but chuckle, grinning at Davey’s cute smile. He laid back down on the couch again, resting his feet on Davey’s lap.

Davey startled when he felt Jack’s legs in his lap. “What was that?” He asked, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I’m using you as a footrest cause you sat in my legs earlier.” He informed matter of factly. “You’re just gonna have to deal with it, Dave.”

“Whatever.” The mortal rolled his eyes and relaxed back into the couch. “So anyway, let’s think of it like this; When you’re angry, or sad, or frustrated, or whatever else… you can do more things, control more, right?”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Davey nodded and continued on, “And sometimes it just happens on it’s own when you’re angry?”

“Yeah? We’ve been over this.” Jack quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, so… What if the more you feel…” Davey trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

Jack blinked at him. “...The more I can control it?” He paused to consider the idea. He supposed it made some sense. Since Davey showed up, the numbness of death had begun to fade. The years of solitude had made him dulled and void, but now it was different. Now it was—, Jack glanced instinctively to the mural on the wall, his train of thought cutting off abruptly.

Happy. The word he was looking for was happy, truly happy, for the first time in a century and it was because of Davey fucking Jacobs.

“You’re wrong.” Jack said before he could stop himself. “It’s not strong emotion, it’s—,” He cut himself off, snapping his jaw shut tight.

“It’s what?” Davey titled his head.

“...I think it’s you.” Jack whispered in disbelief, watching the confusion on Davey’s face.

Davey opened his mouth to respond, but Jack wouldn’t hear it. He leapt from the couch and fled through the wall before he could hear Davey’s words. The lights flickered and followed him as he went, stepping through the walls and into the hallways.

If Jack was being honest, he was afraid. Solitude had been comfortable, but everything was different now, and Jack was enjoying it far too much. Davey would leave at the end of the year, and Jack would be alone again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle the loneliness again without leveling the building by mistake!

A light bulb popped above his head, shattered glass falling through him. Jack flinched and instinctively shielded his head. Logically he knew he wouldn’t be cut, but basica survival instincts don’t fade over the years, apparently.

Jack punched the up bottom on the elevator and waited, impatiently tapping his foot. As soon as the elevator dinged, he stepped through the doors, not bothering to wait for them to open. He hit the top floor and leaned against the wall. 

The elevator opened, and across from the doors were stairs to the roof. Jack phased through the locked door, taking comfort in the knowledge that Davey couldn’t follow him out here without a key.

There Jack stayed on the roof, staring at the New York skyline for hours. It changed so much over the years, but it still smelled the same. Same old foul New York air, nothing could change it. Jack took some grim comfort in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who came back *WAY* late with an update and no shame!!!


	6. Chapter 6

Davey followed the flickering lights with his eyes, not moving from the couch. The flickering stopped, and Davey knew Jack was gone. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t have gone far. Davey decided to just give him space, after all, Davey also had a lot to think about.

Jack thought Davey was causing this somehow? It didn’t make any sense to him, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Jack would believe that. 

It didn’t matter. Davey had work to do, he couldn’t dwell on it.

Class flew by and Davey didn’t retain any of the information, which was frustrating. He was worried about Jack, and over thinking what he could have meant. He still didn’t have a clue.

When Davey got home he was greeted by flickering lights. “Jackie?” He called as he kicked the door shut. The lights stilled, and the tv paused. Davey glanced to it. Bob Ross was on.

“‘Ey.” Jack mumbled, his voice was more solid now, rather than echoey and distorted. It still had an odd ring to it, but he almost sounded normal. “How was class?”

Davey dropped his bag on the kitchen table and sighed, carding his fingers through his hair. “Boring. I’m not sure I’m actually learning anything.”

“Hmm.” Jack hummed in response, but didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t think my professor likes me very much either.” Davey leaned over the back of the couch, arms crossed. “He gives me the stink eye during class, and he calls on me when I don’t raise my hand, and I’ve never gotten an A in his class, but it’s entirely possible that parts my fault. I haven’t really been—,” 

“You can stay.” Jack blurted out, unprompted.

Davey blinked once, then twice, unsure of Jack’s meaning. “Pardon?”

Jack sighed. “You can stay, if you want… after your lease is up? I—, I like your company.” He admitted, his voice meek.

Davey was caught off guard. He didn’t have a proper response, so he stayed quiet, eyebrows furrowed.

At Davey’s silence, Jack continued. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Davey needed a moment to process that. Jack wanted him to stay? He glanced around the apartment. He had no real reason to leave, and now Jack was offering him the chance to stay.

“Okay.” The words left Davey’s lips before he truly knew what he was saying. “I’ll think about it.”

Jack didn’t respond verbally, but Davey felt cold, concentrated air touch his hand, almost like a thank you. The cold touch vanished, and Davey found himself missing it more than he should have.

\------

Jack felt like an idiot asking Davey to stay, but he said yes, so how dumb could it really have been? In truth Jack’s time on the roof reminded him of his solitude, and that pet it all to rest; Jack wanted Davey to stay.

Jack wanted Davey to stay, because Jack wanted Davey.

His face flushed at the thought alone, but he knew he was right… and he knew nothing would come of it. Davey was alive, breathing, his heart still beating. Jack was six feet underground in a crappy wood coffin, that’s undoubtedly collapsed under the weight of the dirt by now. 

Even if nothing came of it, Jack couldn’t bring himself to give Davey up. He felt like he was learning to live again, and if Davey left, that left too. If Davey left he’d lose their quiet good mornings, sitting with Davey as he drank his coffee, flicking paint onto Davey’s face, their long and in depth talks late at night.

He couldn’t lose that. He just couldn’t.

Jack tried not to notice as Davey trudged from his bedroom in the morning, shirtless, sweatpants hanging off his hips. He made himself some coffee, and Jack did everything in his power to watch the tv instead of Davey, but self restraint is a lot harder when no one can see you.

Jack, mentally scolding himself, crossed the room to sit with Davey at the kitchen table, pulling out a chair. Davey gave a small nod of acknowledgement at the chair.

“Mornin’.” Jack grumbled, his eyes trailing up Davey’s bare chest and lingering on his adam’s apple as he drank.

“Good morning.” Davey sipped his coffee, and looking through his lashes.

Jack’s face heated, and he turned his face, staring at his paintings on the wall instead. It didn’t do him any favors, only endearing him to Davey even more. He shifted his gaze to Shakespeare, who was grooming himself attentively on the back of the couch.

“I have today off. Do you wanna do something?” Davey suggested, a tired drawl in his voice.

Jack considered the offer, then shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Hm.” Davey made a dissatisfied noise, then chewed his bottom lip. “...You could teach me to paint?”

Jack quirked an eyebrow at him. “Teach ya to paint? You sure, Davey?”

He shrugged with a small smile. “I’m willing to learn.”

Jack couldn’t help but scoff fondly. “Okay.”

\-------

Davey’s painting was terrible, even he knew that. It was a messy blur of colors that was supposed to be a landscape. Bob Ross made it look so easy, but it definitely wasn’t! He could hear Jack chuckling behind him.

“Stop laughing at me.” Davey glared over his shoulder.

An invisible cold touch landed on Davey’s shoulder. “I’m not laughin’ at ya!”

“You totally are though!” Davey pouted, cheing the end of his paintbrush self consciously.

“ I’m not, I’m not!” Jack insisted. “Here, let me show you.” 

Davey expected Jack to pluck the brush from his hand, but instead he felt Jack’s icy touch over his hand, guiding him back to the canvas. Davey couldn't help but shiver.

“This always works in ‘da movies.” Jack said, low and close to Davey’s ear. Anthony cold touch landed on Davey’s shoulder as Jack led his brush. “...Nice… long... even strokes. Don’t treat it like a pencil. Don’t act like you’re sketching.”

Jack’s voice felt so present behind him, right in his ear, as if he was a solid, living person. Davey’s face flushed, and his stomach did flips.

“There you go…” Jack praised as Davey moved the brush correctly, his icy touch lingering on Davey’s skin. “Just like that.”

“I can feel you, you know.” Davey whispered, his heart hammering against his rib cage.

Jack was silent for a long moment, then he cleared his throat. “What do ya mean?”

“Where you’re touching me, my hand and shoulder? It’s cold there. I can feel it.” Davey leaned back in his chair, away from the canvas, and closer to where Jack would be standing. He expected to be moving into the cold, but he didn’t.

The cold faded, and for one disappointing second, Davey thought he scared Jack off, but then the cold was replaced with something else; heat. It was the same touch, but warm, soft, and gentle. He still couldn’t see Jack, but he could feel him, warm, like blood still pumped in his veins.

“I feel hot.” Jack muttered, sounding startled. “Like, really, really hot. I think—, I think something's wrong.”

“Wrong?” Davey turned in his chair to face Jack’s vague direction, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I haven’t felt this warm since—,” Jack cut himself off. “Ah.” He muttered as the realization hit him.

“Sounds like you figured out another one of your ghost powers.” Davey said with a grin, then turned back to the painting. “Now are you going to teach me or not, Jackie?”

\---------

Davey was out of the apartment, doing god knows what. It was hard for Jack to keep track of his schedule. One day it was work, then school, family, friends, etc. It didn’t particularly matter, point was, Jack was home alone.

He sat at the kitchen table, examining Davey’s painting. It was a mountain landscape, and clearly showed Davey’s lack of experience. It wasn’t bad, per say, it just wasn’t good either. At least, not from a technical viewpoint.

As far as Jack was concerned, it was fantastic because Davey did it. He slid from his chair and took the painting with him. Jack pulled one of his paintings—a painting of Medda’s theater—off the wall. He hung Davey’s in its place. He nodded to himself in approval.

Behind him, the door opened. “Hey, I’m home!” Davey called.

Jack startled, feeling caught red handed, but he quickly remembered Davey couldn’t see him. He let out a breath of relief and gravitated towards the kitchen, following Davey to the fridge. 

“Welcome back.” Jack leaned on the wall as Davey set a bag on the counter and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

“Hmm.” Davey hummed in response, sipping his drink. “I brought something I think you’ll like.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “More paints?”

Davey’s lips split into a huge grin. “Better.”

Jack’s gaze shifted to the plastic bag on the counter. He moved to open it, but the moment he rustled the bag, Davey snatched it away.

“Oh no you don’t! Not so fast!” He beamed, carrying the bag to the couch with haste.

Jack followed, and watched as Davey crouched in front of the tv. He pulled something from the bag. It was a stack of movies. “What movie is it?”

Davey shrugged. “All of Hobbit and Lord of the Rings movies. I borrowed them from my sister.” He cracked open the first box and put it into the tv.

“What’s it about?” Jack fell back onto the couch, and Shakespeare stared at him from the armrest. Creepy cat.

“Uhh…” Davey shrugged. “Hobbits, darves, elves… stuff like that.”

“How long is it?” Jack pushed himself off the couch with a grunt of effort, then headed to the kitchen to make popcorn.

“....Well we’re definitely gonna need a few days to get through it all.” Davey gave an awkward, apologetic grin. “But I really think you’ll like it!”

Jack paused by the microwave, one hand on the handle. He rolled his eyes fondly. “I’ll trust your judgement.”

They ended up marathoning the first three movies with barely a bathroom break. Jack didn’t need to go anyway, and Davey insisted they didn’t have to pause for him because he’d seen it all before anyway.

Halfway through some big battle scene that Jack could barely keep up with, he found himself leaning against Davey’s side. It was odd, Jack thought. He could walk through walls and phase through closed doors, but Davey felt so solid against him. It keep Jack feeling grounded.

“You still feel warm.” Davey said, his tone quiet.

“Mh.” Jack made a noise of acknowledgement, but said nothing, leaning his head on Davey’s shoulder.

“I mean, I’m not… complaining.” Davey shrugged, and as his shoulder rose, Jack’s head moved with it. Jack didn’t expect that, but it was a pleasant feeling to not phase through him.

“You make a good pillow.” Jack muttered into Davey’s shirt. He smelled like popcorn.

Davey gave a short laugh. “You’re using me as a pillow?”

“Oh yeah, for sure.”

\-------

“So there was this one time,” Jack begun enthusiastically, making wild hand gestures without much meaning to them. “Race blew all his money on racing horses, and he lost all his bets. He was even more broke than he usually was, so he couldn’t afford a bed in the newsies lodging house. Ya see, you gotta pay a penny for every week ya stay, and he was literally penniless. So I paid for ‘em and then I ended up payin’ for Albert, and Specs, and a bunch of other fella who couldn’t afford it.”

“How generous of you.” Davey scoffed. He sat across from Jack on the couch, nursing a cup of coffee. It was midnight, and Davey couldn’t sleep, so they ended up in lively conversation.

“Oh, don’t mock me.” Jack scolded with no bite behind it. “Anyway, I was paying for many fellas’ beds I couldn’t afford my own!”

“So what’d you do?” Davey sipped his coffee, a light smile on his lips.

“I ended up sleeping on the roof!” Jack barked a laugh. “I called it my penthouse!”

Davey dissolved into laughter. “The roof? Really?”

“Oh yeah!” Jack nodded animatedly. “It’s a great view up there! Ya shoulda seen it!”

“Well, I guess I could.” Davey shrugged. “I mean, this building still has a way to the roof, right?”

“Um…” Jack paused to consider it. “Yeah. Okay, let’s go.”

“What, like right now?” Davey’s eyebrows shot upwards.

“Yeah!” Jack leapt from the couch. “Ya gotta see it at night to get the full experience!”

“Jackie, it’s midnight.” Davey protested halfheartedly, biting his bottom lip uncertainty.

Jack took Davey by the arm and pulled him off the couch. “Come on! Up! Up! Let’s go!”

Davey sighed, a fond smile reaching his lips. He set aside his coffee and went willingly. Jack pulled him by the sleeve through the halls, to the elevator, and to the top floor.

“It’s through here.” Jack said as he phased through the door leading outside. Shamelessly, he snapped the lock and opened the door for Davey.

Davey stepped out into the cold night air. “Oh, wow…”

“Nice, right? Welcome to my penthouse! High above the stinkin’ streets of New York City!” Jack gestured around them pointlessly, knowing Davey couldn’t see him. “Come on.” Jack grabbed Davey’s sleeve again and pulled him towards the edge of the roof.

Davey stopped to stare at the skyline, his mouth agape. “...This is how you slept every night?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“It was worth it to get the other boys a bed, and the skyline alone… Oh, god. It was a good feelin’.” Jack leaned on the railing, a wistful look on his face. “But I gotta admit, winters sucked ass.”

Davey chuckled. “I’d imagine so.”

Jack stared at Davey’s hand, lingering on the railing. It would be so easy to just take his hand. Jack knew it was a bad idea, logically, but—, oh god Jack’s hand moved before he could stop himself, resting on top of Davey’s.

Maybe Davey wouldn’t notice. He was, after all, invisible. It was entirely possible, right?

Davey’s hand turned over, palm up, fingers spread. Jack stared at his hand, then Davey’s face. Was he blushing? It was hard to tell in the darkness. Jack took a risk and interlocked their fingers. 

Davey’s lips twitched into a smile. “This is weird.” He scoffed.

“I know.” Jack sighed, then tried to pull his hand away. 

Davey tightened his grip to stop him. “I can almost feel you. It’s light, and airy, but…” He rubbed the back of Jack’s hand with his thumb, staring at the skyline. “...it’s still there.”

Jack felt something in his chest, it wasn’t an ache, more like a warmth, a jolt of something deep and long forgotten. Whatever it was, Jack welcomed it. “I like this.” He admitted softly, watching for Davey’s reaction.

Davey ducked his head, grinning genuinely. “I like this too.”

There was that jolt in his chest again. It felt warm and alive, and Jack knew it was all because of Davey. Jack let out a shuddering breath, overcome with emotion. “I really want you to stay, Davey.”

Davey looked to the skyline, considering it. “I kind of want to stay too.”

Jack squeezed his hand gently. “Will you?”

“Yeah.” Davey’s gaze shot down to their conjoined hands, and he cut himself off abruptly. “I think I’ll—,” 

\------

Davey could only stare. That was Jack’s hand. Like, his actual hand. Davey was looking at Jack’s actual hand, fingers intertwined with Davey’s. That was his fucking hand! And Davey could see it!

His brain was short circuiting. The fact that the hand would be attached to an arm, and a body, and a human person seemed logical to anyone who wasn’t Davey in that moment. He could barely process the hand, so logic hadn’t quite kicked in yet. He hadn’t thought to look up and see a face and eyes and a human person.

Finally, he managed to look up, mouth hanging open, and eyes wide.

Jack was more handsome that Davey thought. He had tousled blackish brown hair. He was wearing an old gray cap, a blue shirt, and a vest. His eyes were dark brown, and full of more depth and clear intelligence than Davey ever would have guessed.

He was handsome, and it left Davey speechless.

Jack was staring at him with confusion written all over his face. “Davey?” He asked, but when Davey didn’t respond, Jack’s eyes widened in realization. “Can you—, can you see me?” He asked, barely above a whisper.

Davey reached to touch Jack’s arm with one trembling hand. He was still airy and light to the touch, like a feather, but it was there. Jack was there. Well, almost. He was translucent, and Davey could see the New York skyline through him, but he was there, a faint, lightly glowing figure before him.

“Yeah… I can see you.” Davey managed to get out, feeling choked. His fingertips brushed Jack’s cheek, and Jack leaned into the touch, burying his nose in Davey’s palm, and closing his eyes. He almost felt solid there.

“You can see me.” Jack repeated, breathless against Davey’s hand. “You can see me.”

Davey thought Jack might cry, he could see him trembling. He did the only thing he could think of, and pulled Jack into a tight hug. Jack didn’t fight it, he went willingly, burying his face in Davey’s neck.

Davey fisted his fingers in the back of Jack’s shirt. “I can see you.” He repeated assuringly. “I can see you, and I’m gonna stay. I’ll renew my lease. I want to stay.”


	7. chapter 7

Jack was shorter than Davey would have expected, and that was the thing that stuck out to him the most. He knew exactly why too, and it made Davey’s stomach do flips. He always did have a thing for shorter guys. Something about the idea of someone burying their face into the crook of his neck and hugging Davey around his middle made hsi face flush. Although just about everything about Jack made Davey flush.

Sometimes Davey would come home to find Jack reclined on the couch, rewatching Bob Ross for the hundredth time. His hair was a mess, like he hadn’t seen a comb in a century. It looked soft though, and Davey longed to run his fingers through it, to feel that light, airy texture. It was addicting.

When Jack painted he’d always have this look on his face, like he was so focused he’d forgotten the world. The tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration, his lips parted ever so slightly. His fingers worked the paint expertly, and he never wasted a drop of it. Jack had a look of awe and marvel at the paints whenever he handled them, like he was in shock just to hold them, and afraid to ruin them.

Oh, and when he spoke! Jack used his hands when he spoke, making wild gestures that meant nothing and everything at the same time. Davey could never decipher them. He was such an animated speaker, grinning like a mad man as he spoke.

Jack was an active listener too, when Davey spoke he never took his eyes off him. He’d nod along and smile like nothing else mattered. It made Davey’s legs go weak. Jack would pause the tv when Davey opened his mouth, he’d set down his brush, he’d stop everything to give Davey his full, undivided attention. It made Davey’s heart swell every time.

Jack’s smile alone was enough to make Davey swoon. It was so bright, unrestricted, and genuine. It made Davey want to smile back every time, even when Jack was poking fun at him.

Davey must’ve spent hours just staring at Jack, studying him, taking in every tiny characteristic, movement, and feature. Jack didn’t seem to mind, and if he did, he never said so.

One morning Davey woke up to find Jack painting at the kitchen table with the same look on his face, and a small mirror from the bathroom beside him. He worked diligently, brush in hand. Davey graviated closer to sneak a glance at the canvas. It was a painting of Jack, a portrait.

“Seems egotistical.” Davey teased, lingering behind Jack, one hand on his shoulder.

Jack gave a short chuckle. “I haven’t seen my face in over a hundred years, I’m uh… getting reacquainted with it.”

Davey dissolve into laughter. “Still seems egotistical!”

“You’re such an ass!” Jack flicked his brush as Davey, sending a few drops of red paint onto Davey’s face, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

Davey gawked at him in offense and wiped the paint from his cheek. “You are so childish!” He barked a laugh and dove for Jack’s paint. He smeared some blue paint on his fingers before Jack could stop him.

Jack leapt from his chair. “No!” He yelped, narrowly dodging Davey’s fingers. 

“Come here!” Davey ran after him, but Jack was already ahead of him, slipping through the walls and safely out of Davey’s reach.

“Ha! I’d like ‘ta see ya catch me now!” Jack shouted through the wall.

Davey groaned loudly. “Jack!” He whined. “That’s cheating!” He stood in front of the wall and waited, holding out one paint smeared hand.

“Is it cheating, or is it using my natural abilities to win?” Jack challenged, his head poked through the wall to show off a smug smirk.

Davey took his chance to smear paint on Jack’s cheek, then threw both hands up in victory! “Success!”

Jack’s jaw dropped, offended, and he wiped the paint off his face. “I didn’t think it’d actually stick.” He grumbled.

Davey did a victory lap around the couch and dipped his fingers into more paint as he passed the table. “Alright, come here, round two.”

Jack yelped and dove back for the wall, but Davey caught him by the arm just in time, handing his paint coated hand on Jack’s chest, leaving a red stain on his vest and collar. For a moment, Jack didn’t move, his back against the wall, and Davey pinning him there, both covered in paint, and gently panting from their little game.

Davey met his gaze and held it. Jack was giving him a look like a cornered animal, but Davey knew Jack could just step through the wall and escape him if he wanted to.

“Is this weird?” Davey asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Is what weird?” Jack asked with a soft scoff. “That you share an apartment with a ghost or that you’re looking at a ghost like you want to kiss a—, Mmhp!”

\-----

Davey was kissing him, both hands gripping at either side of Jack’s face, eyes squeezed shut. Jack’s back was against the wall, and oddly enough, it felt solid. Davey felt solid. Everything felt solid.

Davey’s lips were soft, warm, and needy, and Jack didn’t know how to respond. He was in a state of shock, too many thoughts running through his head. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t give in. Jack should step through the wall and walk away before he couldn’t anymore. 

His hands hovered over Davey’s waist, not touching, he was too afraid to touch. If he touched it might stop, or it might continue. Jack wasn’t sure what he wanted of the two options. Logic screamed at him to stop, but his still heart begged him to continue.

Davey was mortal, and Jack was dead. There was no possible way this has a happy ending, right? Jack should go.

But he didn’t.

Jack stayed.

He always stayed.

Jack’s hands landed on Davey’s hips, and he finally managed to kiss back. Davey kept him pinned to the wall, and Jack didn’t fight it. It was a good feeling. His fingers trailed up Davey’s sides, brushing the skin above his waistband.

There was that jolt again, the same one he felt on the roof, deep in his chest. It was forgotten, foreign, and hauntingly familiar all at the same time.

Davey’s tongue teased his lips, and Jack’s legs trembled to hold his weight. He parted his lips and allowed Davey entrance, but the moment he did, Davey pulled back, looking flushed and embarrassed. He couldn’t meet Jack’s gaze. “I have class.”

Jack ducked his head to avoid Davey’s eyes. “Um, right. Class.”

“Right.” Davey muttered, slowly taking a step back from Jack. “I should go.”

“I guess I’ll—, I’ll be here.” Jack tried to joke, giving a forced laugh.

He’d always be here. Davey, on the other hand? Jack watched him gather his class things in silence, and walk out the door.

Jack sighed and shook his head. He’d gotten carried away, that’s all. He moved back to the kitchen table and picked up his brush. He glanced to the mirror to check his reference, and faltered.

He wasn’t quite as translucent anymore. Jack could still see the tv behind him in the mirror, positioned right behind his head, but it was harder to make out now. There was more color in his cheeks, and less of a glow.

Jack’s hand shot up to touch his lips. Davey was doing this. It could only be Davey. The real question was how was Davey doing it? 

Jack shook his head again, dropping his brush into the table. Any inspiration had left him. He had too much going on inside his head to sit and paint with only his thoughts to keep him company.

There was no way this had a happy ending, right?

Well, Jack supposed, if his heart was going to be broken either way, perhaps he should dive in headfirst.

\------

Davey was kicking himself all the way out the door. He kissed Jack! He kissed a ghost! A ghost! How stupid could he be? Of all the people in the world for Davey to fall for, why a ghost? Why a century old ghost?

He shouldn’t have done that. It was a bad idea. It was the definition of a bad idea. Davey couldn’t focus at all in class. At this rate he was going to fail, but thank god the other students were willing to share their notes!

Class ended after what felt like hours, and Davey found himself in no hurry to get home. He dragged his feet down the sidewalk, dreading facing Jack. Surely he’d have something to say about this morning, right? Whatever thoughts Jack had on the matter, Davey wasn’t sure he could handle hearing him.

His face burned at the mere memory, but Davey knew he couldn’t just never go home! It took him an hour of circling the block before he finally managed to enter the apartment building.

Davey’s hand lingered on the doorknob of their apartment. It wasn’t too late to go circle the block a few more times, some insecure part of him suggested.

“No, no, just open the door.” Davey muttered under his breath, but his hand didn’t move. “Do it.” He urged, but he still couldn’t seem to follow through.

“Problem, Mr. Jacobs?” 

Davey startled at the question and whipped around to see his landlord. “Mr. Harpie! Good afternoon!”

Mr. Harpie gave an tight, forced smile. “Good afternoon. Say, Mr. Jacobs, I have a question for you.”

Davey pursed his lips and glanced to the door. Anything to avoid Jack for a few minutes longer. “Okay… shoot.”

Mr. Harpie seemed hesitant, fidgeting with his hands. “Um, my father was a superstitious man, you know. He owned his building before I did.” He gestured vaguely around them. “He believed your apartment was haunted, actually.”

Davey stiffened. “Haunted?

“Well, yes…” Mr. Harpie didn’t meet his gaze, picking dirt from under his nails as a distraction. “And I know you’ve already been here for a couple months—seven, right?—Well I just wanted to know if you’ve heard or seen anything odd?”

Davey could only stare at him. He wasn’t sure how to answer. “Um…” He trailed off, glancing back to the door. “...no…”

“You don’t sound certain.” Mr. Harpie quirked an eyebrow at him.

Davey’s hand fumbled behind him for the door handle. “I have to go. Sorry Mr. Harpie.” As soon as he got it open, he slipped inside without another word.

He stayed with his back against the door for a long moment, glancing around for Jack. He was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was on the roof? Davey wasn’t going to go looking. Maybe Jack needed some space too.

The self portrait was still on the table, half finished. It didn’t look like Jack made any progress in Davey’s absence. It was already beautiful, clearly one of Jack’s best. It would look great on the wall with the—, Davey’s train of thought screeched to a halt. Was that his painting?

Davey marched across the room to look closer. It was. It was the shitty landscape Jack taught him how to paint, hanging on the wall with Jack’s paintings. Jack must’ve put it up.

Davey’s heart swelled a little at the thought. Maybe, of all the people Davey could have fallen for, Jack wasn’t so bad.

“Oh, hi’ya Davey.” Came Jack’s thickly accented voice form the hallway.

Davey’s face burned, he sighed, and turned to face him. He seemed more solid than Davey last saw him, less glowly, more colorful.

“Uh, hey Jack.” Davey managed to say after a long moment. “You look… good.”

Jack furrowed his eyebrows at Davey’s awkward expression. “We ain’t gotta talk about it if ya don’t want to.”

Davey let out a huge breath of relief. “Really? You aren’t mad?”

“Mad?” Jack graviated closer, and Davey backed up in response, until Jack was the one pinning Davey to the wall. He had one hand on Davey’s chest, and the other on his hip.

Davey’s heart hammered in his chest, but he didn’t dare move from Jack’s embrace. “What’re you doing?”

Jack leaned in closer and whispered, low and hot in Davey’s ear. “Why would I be mad? Davey, I liked it.”

Davey shuddered. He felt those words, Jack’s breath, against his skin. It was hot under normal circumstances, but Jack? Jack had breath! That sent shivers down Davey’s spine.

“Are you breathing?” Davey asked, barely above a whisper.

Jack pulled back barely a few inches to keep Davey’s gaze. Their noses were nearly touching. Jack gave him that wonderful, beaming grin. “I don’t know how ya do it, Davey, but I really don’t want it ‘ta stop.”

“I don’t know what that mean.” Davey hesnitently placed both hands on Jack’s shoulders.

Jack went quiet for a moment, as if considering his answer. “I don’t wanna talk about that.” He confessed.

“Then… what do you want to talk about?” Davey asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Jack bit his bottom lip, then glanced down to Davey’s. “I was hopin’ nothin’.”

It was a bad idea, and Davey knew it, but for the second time today, that didn’t stop him. Davey gripped the front of Jack’s shirt and yanked him forward, slamming their lips together. 

Jack responded eagerly as Davey’s tongue slipped into his mouth, His hand slid up the back of Jack’s head, his fingers tangling in the dark hair there, and holding Jack in place. Davey pushed off the wall driving Jack’s back against the kitchen table.

A dirty paint cup fell from the table, spilling water onto the hardwood floors. Neither stopped long enough to care.

Jack’s hands were under his shirt, and Davey was pinning the shorter man in place. His heart was hammering in his chest. It felt so wrong, yet so fucking good.

Jack was breathing, and giving off body heat, and moving, and by god, he nearly felt alive under Davey’s fingers! After all, dead people don’t make out with you against your kitchen table, right?

Davey’s hand landed on the side of Jack’s neck, cupping him, but after barely a moment there, Davey’s heart sunk. No pulse. Jack was dead, and Davey was kidding himself.

He was about to pull back and end this when Jack’s fingers worked open his belt buckle, and all thoughts of death were forgotten as they stumbled towards the bedroom.

\------

Jack laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Davey was asleep beside him, nothing but his bare skin under the covers, one arm slung over Jack’s middle in a sleepy hug. He tried to distract himself from his thoughts, petting Davey’s soft hair. It was so soft, but it could keep Jack’s head quiet for only so long.

Jack didn’t sleep. He hadn’t since his death, so when Davey dozed off, he stayed wide awake. He would have gotten up, but he didn’t want to risk disturbing Davey. God, he really wanted a nap. Continuous consciousness for a century took a toll on a man. He felt tired, deathly tired, so to speak.

Maybe it was the mood of the room, sleep, quiet, and comfortable, but it made Jack’s eyelids heavy.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a while it would be like sleeping? It was worth a try.

Jack closed his eyes.

\------

When Davey woke up Jack was still in the bed, their legs tangled together under the blankets, both bare. Jack was clinging to Davey around the middle, like a child with a teddy bear.

He seemed to be asleep, which was odd, because all the months Davey had lived here, he’d never seen Jack sleep. He was snoring loudly, his hair a tousled mess, and dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

More than that, he looked even more solid. Davey almost couldn’t see through him at all! Yet he could still make out the faint outline of the nightstand through his chest. Whatever was happening to Jack, he looked better and better everyday, and he seemed happier too.

Davey shuffled closer and buried his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, a dull ache in his heart. He knew what it was, he’d felt it before. Davey was falling in love.

He scoffed at the thought. In love with a ghost? How odd.

Eventually Davey’s alarm rang. He scrambled to turn it off, so not to wake Jack. He deserved the sleep. It’d been hours, and still Jack slept. He hadn’t even stirred.

Davey slowly peeled himself away from Jack, showered, dressed, and readied himself for class. He felt guilty sneaking out as JAck slept, so he scribbled down a note and left it on the pillow.

Davey headed out, feeling conflicted. Jack was dead. Why was that so hard for him to understand. He was a ghost, and actual, real ghost. Kissing him, sleeping with him, falling for him, all of it was a mistake that Davey needed to stop making immediately. He just couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Jack was still asleep when Davey got home, several hours later. 

And he still slept for longer, and longer, and longer.

Davey began to worry, thirty four hours later and Jack still hadn’t stirred. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he try waking him? Should he call someone? Who do you call for this? Yes, hello 911, my ghost fell asleep?

Davey took advantage of the time to get as much class work as he could done, and slept on the couch, so not to disturb Jack. It was one thing sleeping in the same bed as him when they just fucked, but climbing into bed with him just to sleep seemed to intimate, too domestic, too coupley.

They hadn’t even spoke about what happened between them, how could Davy do something so coupley when he didn’t even know what they were?

Davey decided to wait it out, Jack would wake up eventually.

Hopefully.

\------

This was the best Jack had felt in a century. He wasn’t sure why, but all he knew was he was comfortable, and he wasn’t tired, and the bed was warm, and everything felt so nice and quiet.

It was that comfort that made his eyes shoot open. It was foreign, and it startled Jack when he finally noticed it. He shot upright, feeling frantic. Was this Davey’s room? It was. He relaxed a bit. Right, he remembered now, they slept together.

Davey wasn’t here. He must’ve gone to class.

It raised a startling thought though; had Jack slept? That was new, but not unwelcome. He felt more rested than he had in a century. Jack managed to trudge out of bed, and look for his clothes. They were folded in a neat, very Davey-esk pile on the dresser. Jack gave it a fond look, and got dressed.

Leave it to Davey to be so thoughtful.

Jack exited the bedroom and was immediately greeted by Shakespeare, who surprisingly didn’t hiss at him for once. The cat bound up to him and rubbed at his legs, purring needily. Perhaps the cat missed him.

“Hi’ya Shakespeare.” Jack kneeled down to pet the cat, grinning.

“Jack?” Davey called, sounded surprised, he came running from the hallway. “You’re awake!” He beamed and hastily pulled Jack into a hug.

“Uh… yeah?” Jack accepted the hug gladly, but the confusion spoiled it. Perphaps Davey missed him as well. “I guess I fell asleep… which is weird. Haven’t done that in a while…”

Davey pulled back, his hands lingering on Jack’s shoulders. “You were asleep for four days.”

Jack sputtered. “Four days?!” He held his head, already getting a headache.

“I mean, assuming you haven't slept in a century, I’d say that isn’t so bad, but…” Davey teased with a shrug and a fond smile. “It’s good to see you up and at ‘em again, I was starting to worry.”

Jack nodded quietly, still processing the fact that he was knocked out for four days. He practically fell into the couch, a horrible headache already hitting him. “My head hurts.”

Davey sat beside him, their legs touching, and took Jack’s hand. “Are you alright?”

“I think so.” Jack shrugged it off.

Davey was rubbing circled on the back of Jack’s hand with his thumb, slow and comfortingly. “Do you want to talk about the other night?”

Jack pursed his lips, then gave a defeated nod. “I guess we should, huh?”

Davey nodded and squeezed Jack’s hand. “What are we?”

“I don’t know. We’re testing the waters?” Jack suggested. “We don’t have to label it if you don’t want to.”

Davey brushed a lock of hair back form Jack’s face, a gentle smile on his face, an a kindness in his eyes that made Jack swoon. “Testing the waters it is then.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jack slept a lot after that. Sometimes Davey would find him passed out on the couch, and he wouldn’t stir for anywhere between hours and days. Davey never tried to wake him, knowing Jack would get up whenever he was ready. Besides, he had nothing wrong with Jack’s, ahem, over sleeping. It gave Davey a much needed chance to work solely on his grades. 

Jack was blacked out on the couch, his cap pulled down over his face. Davey was watching him out of the corner of his eye, trying to focus on his computer screen, a half written essay sitting in wait for him. Jack looked so peaceful, but not particularly comfortable. The couch wasn’t a good spot to sleep, Davey learned that when Jack took over his bed for four days.

Davey chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. He could get Jack a mattress, but that cost money. He could invite him to sleep in the bed, but were they ready for that? They hadn’t slept together since that first night, only sparing each other quick kisses goodbye, lingering touches, and cuddly movie nights. Davey wasn’t complaining, he enjoyed it, but he kind of wanted more.

He also kind of wanted it all to stop. There was no way this ends well, A ghost and a mortal? Jack would get sick of him the moment Davey grew too old for him. An eternal nineteen year old wouldn’t have any interest an old man. Davey’s hands fidgeted at the thought. Maybe he should just enjoy it while he had it.

Davey glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten. Davey slid from his chair and kneeled in front of the couch. He gave Jack a light shake of the shoulder. “Jackie? Jack, get up.” Jack didn’t stir.

Davey lifted Jack’s cap off his face. “Jackie? Get up please?”

“Mhh.” Jack made a rumbly noise of complaint and tried to pull his cap back down. Davey didn’t let him.

“Come on, get up.” Davey urged.

Finally, one of Jack’s eyes reluctantly opened. “What?” He glared.

Davey pressed a gently kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Come on. I know the couch isn’t comfortable, come sleep in the bed.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “Ya’ tryna get into my pants, Jacobs?”

Davey rolled his eyes. “I’m offering you a more comfortable place to sleep, not sex.”

Jack shook his head. “I wasn’t complaining’ if you was, I ain’t against it.”

Heat rose to Davey’s face. “Oh, uh…”

Jack put a hand on Davey’s shoulder. “We ain’t gotta if you don’t want to. A comfy bed and a cuddle sound just as good.”

Davey let out a breath of relief. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

The bed was warmer with Jack there, tucked gently under his chin, his arms wrapped around Davey’s middle. The steady rise and fall of Jack’s chest as he slept was mesmerizing. He was breathing, like actually breathing. There was air going through his nose and to his lungs and shit, and it left Davey speechless.

It was a lot to think about, the sleeping, the breathing, all of it. None of it made any sense, but had more important things begging his attention, like the sleeping man in his arms, snoring like an old man. Well, perhaps he was one.

Jack and Davey started sharing the bed more often after than. Sometimes Jack would just wonder in and fall asleep without Davey, but when Davey finally joined him, Jack would nestle into his arms and doze off again. Occasionally Davey would find Jack asleep on the couch, the tv still on. Davey would throw a blanket over him and carry on.

It seemed Jack was just catching up on a century of missed sleep, why he was doing that now, Davey wasn’t sure, but Jack seemed to have an idea. He didn’t tell Davey though, and Davey didn’t ask. Jack would tell him if he wanted Davey to know.

\------

Halloween rolled around, and Jack found himself staring at ghost themed decor littering the walls of the apartment. There was an oversized bowl of candy on the kitchen table, and a plastic skeleton sat across from Jack at the table.

“Halloween’s stupid.” Jack muttered as he glared at the skeleton.

Davey rolled his eyes at him and cut open another bag of kit kats, then pours the continents into the bowl. “What, not a fan of ghosts?” He teased. He was dressed as Harry Potter, complete with the drawn on scar and ankle length robes that covered just about everything.

“Oh, I’ve got a personal grudge against ghosts.” Jack quipped back, his lips twitching into a smile. Halloween was a bit more bearable with Davey, he supposed. Before it was just an irritation. Kids would ring the doorbell and wait and shout and scream for someone to give them candy, and Jack would flicker the lights until they went screaming to the next door.

“How disappointing.” Davey cut open a bag of hershey kisses, then added them to the bowl. “I happen to know a ghost I think you’d get along quite well with.

Jack scoffed and plucked a chocolate kiss from the bowl to examine it. “Candy didn’t used to look like this.” He huffed.

Davey snatched it from his hand and dropped it back into the bowl. “Hands off Mister, those are for the kids.”

Jack grabbed a handful of kisses from the bowl before Davey could stop him. He held them to his chest. “Ha!” 

Davey held out his hand expectedly. “Come on, give ‘em back.”

Jack’s lips split into a grin. “How about a fair trade? A kiss for a kiss?”

Davey blushed, but he gave a fond sigh and leaned down. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s lips, then pulled back. “Satisfied?”

Jack shook his head. “Nah, ya’ only earned one kiss.” Jack handed over one chocolate of his five. “Ya’ owe me four more.”

Davey chuckled, but obliged. He kissed Jack again, harder this time, one hand lingering on Jack’s cheek. He pulled back, and Jack gladly handed over another kiss, his heart swelled as Davey placed yet another kiss on his lips. Then another, then another, slowly earning back his kisses.

Davey pulled back just enough to speak, leaning his forehead against Jack’s, hands cupping his cheeks, never breaking eye contact. “Jackie... I’m really glad I met you.”

Jack’s felt that jolt in his chest again, and he held Davey by the waist. “Dave, I—,” The doorbell rang, cutting him off.

“I’ll get it.” Davey grabbed the bowl and headed for the door. Jack watched him go.

“—Love you.” Jack muttered, crestfallen. He went unheard.

There was a little girl at the door dressed as Thanos, holding out her bag demandingly. “Trick or treat!” Her parent lingered behind her, looking at her phone with disinterest.

“Well, aren’t you—,” Davey cut himself off with a cringe. “—cute? I dunno.” He dumped a handful of chocolate into her bag.

Jack sighed and trailed after Davey to the door. The girl took one look at Jack and frowned. “What’re you supposed to be?”

Jack glanced down at himself. “Umm… a ghost.” He nodded decidedly. “Yeah. I’m a ghost.”

“You’re a pretty shitty ghost.” The kid said bluntly.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up at her language. He glanced to her mother, who said nothing. “Uh, well, I am ghost, so…” Jack shrugged.

“I think he’s a very convincing ghost.” Davey said supportively.

“You don’t even have a bedsheet.” The Thanos girl barked at him. “This is the laziest ghost costume I’ve ever seen.”

Jack’s eye twitched. Was she really…? Jack was about to throw hands with a eleven year old. “Why you little—! I died for this costume! It’s the best damn ghost costume you’ll ever—!”

“Okay, bye now, happy Halloween!” Davey slammed the door, then shot Jack a pointed stare.

Jack huffed and crossed his arms, fumming. “I’m gonna find out what apartment she lives in and haunt her ass so fucking hard.”

Davey’s expression softened to a look of fondness. “You’re an idiot.” He laughed, then grabbed Jack’s collar and pulled him in for a quick kiss. Jack went willingly.

Jack pulled back and pouted at him. “I am a convincing ghost though, right? You weren’t just saying that to be nice?”

“Uh…” Davey pretended to ponder the question, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I can honestly say you’re the most convincing ghost I’ve ever seen.”

Jack tangled his fingers in the soft fabric of Davey’s robes. “You’re a really hot Harry Potter, by the way.”

“You want to know a secret?” Davey asked, beaming.

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “What kind of secret?”

Davey leaned in close to whisper in Jack’s ear. “I’m not wearing anything under this.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot upwards, and his cheek darkened. “Oh, uh—,”

Davey gave a flirtatious wink. “And if you don’t try to fight anymore children tonight, maybe you’ll get to do something about it.”

Jack was thinking of an appropriately sexy reply when his stomach growled loudly. His hand shot to his stomach, eyes wide. “...That’s new.”

Davey glanced down at Jack’s stomach. “Are you okay?”

“I’m like… really hungry.” Jack turned for the candy bowl and took a handful of kit kats and kisses.

“Hey! Those are for the kids.” Davey scolded, hands on his hips.

“I haven’t eaten in a century, Davey, I’m eating these candies.” Jack moved to unwrap a kiss, but Davey stopped him, gently pulling the candy from his hands. 

“Okay, so more new ghost stuff, right?” Davey asked with a shrug. “Your first meal in a century shouldn’t be candy. That can’t be healthy.”

Jack scrunched up his face at Davey in disbelief. “No offense, but it might be a little late to worry about my health.”

Davey sighed and pulled his phone from his robe pocket. “How about pizza?”

\------

Davey watched in mild horror as Jack single handedly devoted nearly two large pizzas in one sitting. They were on the couch with a half empty pizza box between them, periodically answering the door for trick or treaters. Jack was seemingly unsatisfiable.

“Sorry, I’m just—,” Jack took another bite of his pizza and spoke with his mouth full. “—so fucking hungry. Is this what starvation feels like? I think this is what starvation feels like.”

Davey nibbled on his own piece absentmindedly. He was more focused on Jack. “No, babe, eat as much as you want.”

Jack faltered for a moment, sending Davey an odd look. “Did you just call me babe?”

Davey’s face flushed. “Uh, would you prefer I didn’t?”

Jack shook his head. “No, no, I like it.”

Silence fell between them for a moment, then Jack swallowed and spoke up again. “So are you still gonna be in a sexy mood when I finish stuffing my face, or have I turned you off forever?” He teased, a light smile on his lips.

Davey chuckled and ducked his head. “Well I’d be wearing something else under the robe by now if I wasn’t.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a ridiculous, suggestive way.

Jack barked a laugh, grinning and covering his mouth with one hand. “I’m in awe of you sometimes.”

Davey leaned over the pizza box between them to place a kiss on Jack’s lips. He tasted like grease and pizza sauce, but Davey didn’t mind. He pulled back a few inches and gently brushed hair from Jack’s face. “I’m in awe of you too.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Are you eating mayo out of a jar?” Davey starred in disgust as Jack shoved another spoonful into his mouth.

Jack waved the spoon at Davey scoldingly. “How about you go without food for a century, then judge me, okay?”

Davey gave a scoff, but turned back to the tv. “Fair enough.”

Jack fell into the couch beside him and leaned into Davey’s side as he ate. “To be honest, I’m just—, I’m just tryina remember what shit taste like.”

Davey quirked an eyebrow at him. “And is mayo as magnificent as you remember?” He teased, slinging one arm over Jack’s shoulders.

“No, it’s kinda gross, but I’m still gonna eat it.” Jack shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. “Next I’m going after that bottle of blue cheese dressing in the fridge.”

Davey groaned, scrunching up his nose at the mere thought. “Disgusting, Jack, no. You’re not eating that.”

Jack hummed in response, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’m not looking forward to it, but I’m probably still gonna do it.”

“You have no self preservation.” He grumbled with an eyeroll.

“Well, obviously, if I had any self preservation, I might’ve lived past nineteen.” Jack scoffed.

Davey felt an ache in his heart at the reminder. Sometimes it was easy to forget, especially with Jack breathing, sleeping, eating, and looking so very alive beside him.

“What’s one food you’ve always wanted to try, but have never had?” Davey asked, giving Jack a small nudge of encouragement.

“Uh…” Jack pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Davey gawked. “You’ve never had ice cream?”

Jack shrugged it off dismissively. “I died in 1900, and I was poor as fuck my entire life. I was lucky to get bread that wasn’t rock hard or moldy once a week. Ice cream was out of the question.” He went to stick his spoon back into his mayo, but Davey grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Not another bite.” He warned. “I’m going to buy ice cream.”

Jack shook his head with a guilty look. “It’s like thirty degrees outside, you don’t have to get ice cream. I can wait till summer.”

“No!” Davey scrambled off the couch and grabbed his coat off the door. “You’re getting ice cream today. End of story. No more mayo.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is this just so I’ll stop eating the mayo?”

Davey nodded as he wrapped a scarf around his neck. “Kind of, it’s not healthy!”

“I’m dead! My health is the least of my concerns!” Jack waved the spoon wildly, looking bewildered.

“You’re getting ice cream!” Davey declared, claiming the final word as he slammed the apartment door behind him.

\------

“Okay I got chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, cotton candy, mint chocolate chip, cookie dough, and rocky road, all the classics.” Davey dropped the plastic bags onto the kitchen table with a thud.

“That’s… a lot of ice cream.” Jack poked through the bag hesitantly.

“Well, they’re just single pints, and there was a buy one get one free thing, and I know you have a big appetite, so…” Davey shrugged it off and held out a spoon to Jack.

Jack gave him a thankful nod and took the spoon. “Any recommendations on where to start?”

“Cookie dough.” Davey cracked the lid of the pint and slid it between them. Jack took a spoonful, and Davey did the same. “Open up.” Davey instructed.

Jack blinked at him. “Oh, we’re feeding each other, are we?”

“Hell yeah we are. Open up.” Davey repeated, grinning and holding out his spoon.

Jack did as he was told, and Davey fed him the spoonful. Jack immediately made a moaning noise of approval. “Oh god.” He said through his mouthful. “That’s good.”

“I know, right?” Davey took another spoonful, beaming.

Jack shook his head and held out his own spoonful. “No, it’s your turn. Open.”

Davey’s face flushed red, but he opened his mouth for Jack. “Mhh, so glad I bought this.” He muttered with his mouth full.

Jack scooted his chair closer to Davey and intertwined their fingers. “Seconded.”

Davey held out his spoonful. “Alright, open.”

Jack ducked his head, chuckling, then gladly did as Davey asked, then turned to scoop out another spoonful. He refused to let go of Dave’s hand though, causing some difficulty.

“Do you need help?” Davey offered, leaning in closer with a playful smile.

“Nope, I’ll get it.” Jack insisted, uselessly stabbing at the ice cream with no success.

Davey shook his head fondly. “Babe, it might be easier if you let go of my hand.”

“Mhh, can’t do that Davey, it’s illegal.” Jack spared him a glance, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Illegal?” Davey snorted. “Where, pray tell, is it illegal to let go of my hand?”

“In my apartment it’s illegal.” Jack declared with determination in his voice. “Punishable by you having to bottom.”

Davey gasped at him in mock offense and gave Jack a playful smack on the arm. “How dare you!”

Jack gave the ice cream one last useless stab, then dissolved into giggles hanging his head in defeat. “I can’t scoop this with one hand.” He admitted.

Davey clutched his imaginary pearls. “Jack, you’re not thinking of breaking the law, are you?” He teased, mischief in his eyes.

Jack’s turned his head to retort, but fell short when he found himself barely an inch from Davey. He could feel Davey’s breath on his lips. For a moment his brain short circuited. “Um—, well, punishable by bottoming isn’t the worst sentence you can get.” Jack said softly.

Davey chuckled and closed the distance between them, pressing a kiss to Jack’s lips. Jack responded eagerly, dropping his spoon to cup Davey’s cheek. Davey’s tongue probed at his lips, and Jack yielded to him. Davey’s hand was in Jack’s hair, tugging gently, causing Jack to whimper.

Davey pulled back just enough to whisper, “Jackie, I need to tell you something.”

Jack shook his head in protest, but Davey continued.

“I love—,”

“Please don’t!” Jack cut him off urgently.

Davey startled, blinking at Jack in surprise. “Um, why?”

Jack pulled back fully, shrinking on on himself. “Davey… how long do you think we can keep this up?”

Davey’s face fell. “I’m… I don’t know, but I want to find out.”

Jack stroked Davey’s cheek, a sorrowful smile on his lips. “You’re gonna grow old. That’s something you get to do, that I couldn’t. I can never do that.”

“So?” Davey asked defensively. He placed his hand over Jack’s, holding it firmly in place.

Jack had to look away, unable to meet Davey’s gaze. “I can’t grow old with you, or have a family with you, or even leave the building. I don’t have a life, Davey, so how can I have one with you? It’s not fair to you.”

Davey placed his free hand on the side of Jack’s neck, pulling him close enough for their foreheads to touch. “Jackie, that doesn’t matter to me. Does it matter to you…? Would you still want me when I’m old?”

Jack let out a noise like a choked cry. “I can’t imagine a time I wouldn’t want ya’.”

Davey caressed Jack’s cheek comfortingly, trying to encourage Jack to meet his eyes. “Then why won’t you let me say it?”

Jack kept his gaze firmly on the floor. “I'm afraid of what happens when ya do.”

“What happens when I say it?” Davey's hand trailed from Jack's face to his neck again, fidgeting with the short hair at the base of his skull.

“I dunno.”

Davey pursed his lips and considered Jack’s words. “Okay…” He begun after a moment, his tone soft. “Will you meet me halfway here?”

Jack risked a glance at Davey, meeting his eyes, if only for a second. “What do ya’ mean?”

“Let’s label it.” Davey suggested with a shrug, an unsuccessful attempt to sound casual. “Let’s be boyfriends.”

Jack’s expression softened to one of fondness. He managed a tiny, playful smile. “Well,” He said dramatically, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “I guess that wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.”

“Oh, what every man wants to hear when asking out the boy of his dreams!” Davey teased back, giving a short snort of a laugh.

Jack ducked his head and chuckled. “Idiot.” He muttered, then pulled Davey down for a chaste kiss.

 

Davey pulled back first, then picked up his spoon again. “So, should we try mint chocolate chip next, or cotton candy?”

\------

Davey was in his bedroom, the door closed, not that a closed door would stop Jack, but he tended to respect a closed bedroom door. It meant Davey needed quiet and space to do homework.

He was on the bed, his computer in his lap and a few sheets of notes spread out before him as he typed an essay. Jack was probably in the kitchen, eating ice cream, or maybe on the roof. He went up there sometimes when he needed space.

To be honest, Davey was barely focused on his essay. He was more focused on Jack, and why he wouldn’t let Davey tell him. It was just three words! Three words with a lot of weight to them, but three little words all the same.

Maybe he just wasn’t ready. Jack’s last relationship didn’t exactly end well, after all. Whatever the case, Davey would give him as much time as he needed. He was perfectly content being boyfriends.

Boyfriends!

Davey’s heart leapt at the word. Jack Kelly was his boyfriend! A ghost was his boyfriend. Weird, but exciting nonetheless. Davey was grinning like an idiot at the thought, his hands hovering over the keyboard without typing a word. His cheeks were red. 

Outside the door, Davey heard a loud thud, then an, “Ompf!”

He glanced to the door, eyebrows furrowed. “Jackie?” He called. “What was that?”

There was a pause, then Jack spoke, sounding uncertain. “Uh… I tried to walk through the wall?” His tone made it sound like a question, then he added dumbly, “It didn’t work.”

Davey blinked. “What do you mean?”

The door opened, and Jack was standing there, hand on the knob, looking dumbstruck. Davey couldn’t recall ever seeing Jack open a door. He always just walked through them.

“I mean…” Jack was rubbing his nose, which was turning red. “I walked into a wall.”

Davey snorted, he couldn’t help it “Really?”

Jack shot him a glare. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Davey rolled his eyes and scooted over on the bed. He pat the spot beside him invitingly. “Come here.”

Jack sat down, and the bed dipped under his weight. That was new too. Davey intertwined their fingers, and Jack felt solid. Really solid! He tried to peer through Jack, but only saw the gray fabric of his vest. His other hand went to Jack’s chest, right above his heart. No heartbeat, of course, but Jack was solid!

“Hm.” Davey hummed, letting his fingers slim down Jack’s vest, landing at his hip. “Is your face okay?”

“It hurt,” Jack pouted at rubbed at his nose again. “But I’ll be fine.”

Davey leaned in to place a soft kiss on Jack’s forehead, stroking back a few strands of hair. Jak leaned into his touch. “Solid suits you.” Davey teased, then kissed Jack’s cheek.

“It makes you wonder,” Jack began, a playful chime at his tone. 

“Wonder what?” Davey’s kisses trailed across Jack’s jawline, then down his neck. Jack tilted his head to give Davey better access, making pleased noises. 

“How solid other things can get…” Jack gave a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows.

Davey pulled gave, giving a ridiculous, mockingly scandalized gasp. “Jackson Kelly!” He whacked Jack on the arm scoldingly, but he was grinning.

Jack copied his grin, then leaned in to give Davey a kiss on the lips. He pulled back, barely an inch, and whispered in a more serious tone. “I know what you were going to say before, and it’s not that I don’t feel the same, Davey, because I do, I’m just not ready to hear it.”

Davey gave a soft smile, and cupped Jack’s face. “I understand, and as long as you know that’s how I feel, I won’t say it until you’re ready. I just needed you to know.”

Jack nodded, leaning into Davey’s touch. “Thank you, Davey.”

\------

Jack being solid was a bit strange, and he ended up walking into a lot of walls, but it had perks. For example, a wardrobe change. Before Jack was solid, his clothes were just as ethereal as he was, but now they were as solid as Davey’s clothes.

Basically, what I’m saying is Davey sometimes woke up after a night together to find Jack wearing Davey’s clothes instead, lounging around the apartment with no pants, and one of Davey’s shirts.

Yep.

That’s a thing that’s happening.

Jack was shorter than Davey, and the clothes didn’t quite fit right, but my god they looked good on Jack. Davey’s face went red whenever he saw it, but he full on sputtered when he came home to find Jack wearing one of his shirts, sniffing it.

“I—, uh—, Wha—, I don’t—, What’re you doing?” Davey managed to squeak out.

Jack went bright red, and he stopped sniffing his shirt. “...Smells like you.” He muttered, avoiding Davey’s eyes.

Davey blinked at him dumbly. “Oh.”

Jack fidgeted under Davey’s gaze, then sighed and turned to him. “I miss you when you’re at work and school and… stuff, okay?” He admitted with a defeated shrug.

“Oh.” Davey felt like an ass. Apparently ‘oh’ was all he knew how to say.

Jack averted his gaze again. “I just—, I can’t leave or go with you on real dates or anything, so when you go—, when you leave the building I uh, I miss you.” His voice was raw and unsteady, but he wasn’t crying, so that was a good sign.

Davey stepped closer and cupped Jack’s cheek tenderly, turning him to face Davey. “Don’t be embarrassed. I understand. You’re probably feeling cooped up, right?”

Jack nodded, looking guilty. “I didn’t have a reason to feel stir crazy until you came along, ya know.” He intertwined their fingers. “I got used to never leaving, I was content with it, but you make me want to—, I dunno. You make me miss it.”

Davey kissed him, and Jack’s hands landed on his hips. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” He whispered, rubbing circled into Jack’s cheek with his thumb.

“But I want to!” Jack hurried to say. “I want to—, I want to tell you things. I want you to know—, to know what I’m thinking about! I want to share that with you.”

Davey’s heart swelled, and he rested his forehead against Jack’s. “Maybe we can do something?”

“Like what?” Jack muttered, still holding Davey close. He was so warm against Davey.

Davey chewed his bottom lips. “I dunno, maybe I could go to an art museum, and we could video chat, like we’re on a date! It’ll almost be like you’re there with me.”

Jack lips twitched into a hesitant, but genuine smile. “I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo I'm back


	10. Chapter 10

“Can you see it?”

“Hold on,” Jack squinted at the screen. “Let me turn the brightness up.” He fidgeted with the computer screen for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah I can see it.”

Davey lifted the phone higher to show Jack more of the painting. It was a mess of colors, with seemingly no real purpose to them. “I honestly can’t tell what it is.” Davey gave a self conscious chuckle.

Jack pursed his lips at it. “Me either.”

Davey let out a relieved breath. “Really? I was sure you’d know and that I was just stupid.” The screen turned to face Davey, he was smiling, but he seemed nervous.

Jack shifted his seat on the couch and gave Davey an encouraging smile. “No, I pretty sure the artist is the dumb one, cause those are definitely just colors he threw on a canvas.”

That drew a short laugh, but genuine from Davey. The screen turned back to the painting. “There's a description on the wall, hold up.”

The screen zoomed in on a small sign on the wall. Jack blinked at the title. “Who the hell names a painting ‘Confusion?’”

“Maybe that’s the point!” Davey gasped off screen. “Maybe we’re not supposed to understand it!”

“Then it’s a shit painting.” Jack huffed, drawing his knees up on the couch. The computer was open beside him. “What’s the description say?”

“Uh… something about ‘an exploration into the human emotions that accompany confusion and intrigue. A bold new piece by impressionist, Jerry Helbeen.’” Davey read off the wall, only sounding more bewildered.

“That sounds like bullshit.” Jack scoffed.

“Oh, for sure.” The screen turned to face Davey, he was nodded, grinning.

“You think you can do better?” A stern, judgement voice came from beside Davey.

“Who was that?” Jack asked, scooting closer to the computer and adjusting the screen.

Davey turned the screen to face a fellow museum goer. He was tall, pristinely dressed, wearing a suit, and had pasty white skin. He looked even more ghostly than Jack, to be honest.

“This is a private conversation.” Davey said bluntly.

“We’re in a public space.” The man gestured around them. “Besides, I can tell from your friend’s and your’s comments that you two don’t understand a single thing about creating a masterpiece! It’s alright though, you aren’t artists.”

Jack snorted, he couldn’t help but grin at the man’s ridiculousness. “Okay then.”

Davey didn’t seem to find it funny though. “Uh, Jack is an artist!”

“I highly doubt that.” The man scoffed. He had that rich man, paterizioning laugh you see in the movies. The kind of laugh a rich white man gives after insulting a person’s knowledge of which spoon to use at dinner.

Davey raised his voice defensively, “Well, Jack—,”

The man cut him off. “If he was such an artist, why isn’t he actually here?”

“You could say I’m on house arrest.” Jack shrugged.

The man gave another one of his obnoxious laughs. “A foolish ametuer artist and a criminal? Wow, now I’m absolutely dying to hear your true artist opinion on this masterpiece!” His tone was patronizing and mocking, but he paused afterwards, as if waiting for Jack to give a response.

He knew it was a trap. Guys like this didn’t really care about art, the cared about making other people feel inferior about art. Whatever Jack said, the man would twist it and make Jack look like an idiot, but Jack wasn’t going to let this man insult him in front of his date.

“Alright, fella. Fine, you want to hear what I think?” Jack asked, his tone a bit harsher than he intended, but he leaned into it.

“Yes, please, enlighten me!” The man rolled his eyes, grinning like he was a cat who caught a mouse.

“Babe, can you turn me towards the painting again, please?” Jack asked, his tone softening, but only for Davey.

“Sure.” The screen turned to face the painting.

“Well there ain’t a whole lot ta say about it.” Jack gave it another once over. “It—, it looks like the fella just threw paint on a canvas and stuck a cheesy meanin’ with it, because he knew half wits like you would eats it up and he’d makes a lotta money. This—, this fella wasn’t tryina say anything, and he didn’t do anything to show ‘is skill neither! This is a cashgrap painting.”

“How eloquently put.” The man could barely contain his laughter. “How can anyone take your… ‘insights’ with any value if you can barely string together a proper sentence?”

Jack’s face flushed. “I—, Just cause I don’t talk fancy don’t mean I aint got somethin’ of value to say.”

The man rolled his eyes and picked imaginary dirt from under his nails. “Your completely lack of grammar only goes to show how uneducated you are, how could you know anything about art?”

Davey turned the screen so Jack could only see the floor and the tips of his shoes. “Don’t talk to him that way.” He snapped. “Jack made a really good point about the painting, but you’re too hung up on how he said it to take him seriously!”

Jack blushed. Davey was sticking up for him? Wow.

Davey wasn’t done. “He said the painting doesn’t show any real skill in any techniques, it doesn’t display any kind of experience with creating art! It’s a paint splattered canvas with a half thought out meaning added on! If you took away the title and description, you wouldn’t be able to desiern any meaning, or imagery, or anything! But, because it’s got a title that barely makes sense, it’s apparently worth something? Worth a spot in a museum? How much do you think this painting was sold for? I’m guessing a lot. Exactly like Jack said, it’s a cashgran specifically designed to appeal to elitist assholes like you!”

Jack felt another harsh jolt in his chest at Davey’s words.

Oh.

Oh god.

Jack was definitely in love with this man. Davey had never been hotter than right then, in that moment, telling off an elitist prick and defending Jack’s honor.

“I have never been more turned on in my life, Davey.” Jack blurted out before he knew what he was saying.

He heard Davey squeak from the other end of the screen, and regretted that he was stuck staring at Davey’s shoes and floor instead of his surely bright red face.

“You’re both pathetic.” The man huffed, sounding embarrassed, and Jack heard him stomp off.

“I can’t believe you said that outloud, Jackie.” Davey’s voice was strained, but the affectionate ‘Jackie’ showed he wasn’t really mad.

“I can’t believe you defended my honor like that.” Jack fanned himself with one hand. “Holy shit, date over, come home so I can jump your bones.”

The screen turned to face Davey, his face was bright red. He looked mortified. “You’re on speaker!”

\-----

 

“Shit! Shit! Fuck! Shit!”

Davey shot upright in his bed, eyes wide. “Jack?!” He called, scrambling out of bed. “Jackie?” He ran to the living room, nope. He checked the hallway, nope.

“In here!” Jack called from the kitchen, through what sounded like gritted teeth.

Davey hurried to the kitchen to see Jack hunched over the counter, a dish towel pressed to his foot, and a broken glass on the wet floor. “What happened?” 

Jack grimaced at the pain. “I dropped a glass and cut my foot. It hurts really bad.”

Davey wasted no time pulling Jack away from the broken glass. He ushered him into the a chair at the kitchen table. “Stay here, I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Jack nodded mutely, and Davey ran to the bathroom. He practically ripped the kit off the wall and sprinted back. Jack hadn’t moved, but he had taken the towel off his wound, staring down at it in bewilderment.

“What’re you doing?!” Davey’s heart spiked at the sight. “You have to keep pressure on it!” He went to press the towel back to the cut, but froze. Jack wasn’t bleeding. He had an open gash on the heel of his foot, but he wasn’t bleeding at all.

“...I think I’m okay.” Jack muttered guiltily.

Davey let out a huge breath of relief and slumped into the chair beside Jack. “You don’t have a beating heart, there’s nothing pumping blood. Cutting into you is like cutting into a corpse. You don’t bleed.”

Jack blinked down at his cut, frowning. “Sorry I woke you.”

Davey leaned forward to place a kiss on Jack’s forehead. “It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Jack leaned into the touch, his eyes falling shut. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Davey muttered against Jack’s skin, soothing down his hair comfortingly. “Will you come to bed with me?”

Jack glanced to the kitchen floor guiltily. “The glass,” He reminded. “Shakespeare might step on it.”

“I’ll clean it up.” Davey pulled Jack from the chair by his hands. “Go to bed. I’ll be there in a bit, babe.”

Jack gave him a tired nod rubbed at his eyes, and hobbled off to bed. He was shifting his weight onto his good leg. Davey sighed and turned back to the kitchen floor, hands on his hips.

It was a harsh reminder that Jack was dead. Of course he didn’t bleed! But he could be cut, and bruised, and that was something, right?

\-----

“Mr. Jacobs!” Came Mr. Harpie’s overly cheery greeting as he came jogging across the apartment lobby. “Who’s your friend?”

Davey glanced to Jack, who was carrying a box of old clothing they were donating to Goodwill. Jack offered to help him carry it to the door, not that he could go further anyway.

“Uh, this is Jack, Jack this is—,”

“Mr. Harpie Jr.” Jack cut him off, an grimace on his face.

Mr. Harpie blinked at him. “Do we know each other?”

Jack pursed his lips. “I knew your father.”

“Oh.” Mr. Harpie’s face fell.

“Sorry for your loss.” Jack avoided Mr. Harpie’s gaze, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Jack is my boyfriend, we’re just taking some stuff out to the car.” Davey explained briefly, a polite smile on his lips.

Mr. Harpie glanced between them, almost looking concerned. “He doesn't live with you, does he? ‘Cause you only have the other person on the lease, and if he’s moving in we’ll need to talk about your lease again, not that I—, Not that there’s a problem with—, I’m totally fine with—,” He gestured vaguely at Davey and Jack, unable to get the words out. “I just need to keep the records straight, is all.” He paused, then rephrased. “Well, not straight, per say—,”

“It’s fine.” Davey cut him off. “I understand, and Jack doesn't… strictly live with me.”

Jack snorted. “No, I can honestly say I don’t live with Davey.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” Mr. Harpie nodded, then froze. “Not that it would be bad if you did, I just—,”

“Okay, good talking to you Mr. Harpie. Have a nice day!” Davey took Jack by the arm and began dragging him towards the doors.

Jack couldn’t help but snicker. “He was very adamant about being okay with the gay™, huh?”

“Straight people, am I right?” Davey scoffed as he opened the lobby doors. Jack lingered inside, still holding his box. “Your shoes are untied by the way.”

“I know, and lucky you, you get to walk away from this. I have to walk past him again when I go back upstairs.” Jack pouted.

Davey took the box from Jack and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be back soon. How does Chinese food sound tonight?”

Jack hummed in delight. “Hmm, make sure ya get black pepper chicken.”

“Ugh, fine!” Davey scrunched up his face in disgust. “I have no idea how you eat that.”

“It’s good!” Jack defended. “I knew this newsie, Romeo, his parents were immigrants from Asia, and that was the only recipe he learned before they died. Every now and then we’d pool together enough money for him to buy the ingredients and he’d make it for us.”

Davey gave him a soft, fond smile. “That sounds nice.”

“Nah, Romeo was a shit cook, but it reminds me of home.” Jack shrugged it off.”

“Okay, black pepper chicken it is then. Extra peppers?” Davey juggled the box on one hand and he fished out his phone to make a note of it.

“Yes please.” Jack beamed. “And those sugar donut things! Oh, and pot stickers!”

Davey suppressed a chuckle, then kissed Jack’s cheek again. “Okay, I’m off!”

Jack watched him run down to the car, leaning on the doorway as Davey went. Jack didn’t move from the doorway until the car was out of sight. He sighed, wishing he could go with Davey.

He loved him, and Jack knew it, and part of him wanted to say it. He wanted to just spit it out and be done with it, but what would happen when he did? If sleeping together got Jack to pass out for three days, what would a simple ‘I love you’ do to him?

Jack swished those words around in his mouth for a moment, then whispered to himself. “I’m in love with Davey Jacobs,” tasting the words on his tongue, testing it. It felt right.

He chewed his bottom lip, then said it again, with time with more conviction. “I’m in love with Davey Jacobs.”

It felt idiotic to be standing there repeating that fact to himself aloud, but just hearing the words was nice, and it confirmed what Jack already knew; No matter how true those words were, he wasn’t ready to say it to Davey yet.

And maybe that was okay?

Maybe the words didn’t really mean anything?

Davey already knew, and isn’t that the most important part?

Jack sighed again and turned to head back upstairs, but he tripped on his shoelaces, and went stumbling forward.

Forward, through the door.

Onto the sidewalk.

Jack froze, petrified. He was on the ground, his palms scraped, but not bleeding. He was outside.

Outside!

Jack’s chest tightened. “Oh my god.” He exhales, too afraid to move.

“You okay man?” A passerby blinked down at him.

Jack gulped. “Uh, yeah. Fine.”

“Whatever.” The woman kept walking, and Jack slowly managed to collect himself off the sidewalk. No one spared him another glance. 

He turned to the door and swiped a hand through the doorway, half expecting to thud against an invisible wall, like he always had before. There was nothing. His first instinct was to go back inside, to the safety of his home, but he stopped himself. What if he couldn’t get back out? What if he was stuck forever?

Jack took an anxious step back from the door, as if it might suck him back in and trap him for another hundred years.

He stumbled backwards off the sidewalk and into the street, and a car honked at him. Jack startled and jumped back onto the sidewalk, breathing hard. A bubbly laugh rose through his entire body, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“Oh my god!” He said, perhaps a bit too loud. A few strangers gave him an irritated glance and quickened their pace, but honestly?

Jack couldn’t bring himself to care!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did a thing y'all

Davey parked the car in the parking garage, and headed for the apartment. He had two bags of chinese food hanging off his arms. Jack had a big appetite, so Davey always ended up buying a lot of food. His nose was buried in his phone, texting Sarah.

‘When do I get to meet this mysterious boyfriend of ur’s?’ Sarah texts.

Davey had told her vaguely about Jack the last time she called. He didn’t mention the whole ghost thing, of course, but he did mention Jack. Sarah knew Jack was a artist, and used to have a job working for the newspaper, that they met in the apartment building, etc.

‘Maybe you can come over sometime, but not now.’ Davey struggled to text back, the bags restricting his movement.

‘Ugh ur no fun.’ Was her reply.

Davey couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly. He glanced up, the apartment building was in sight now. It’d only be a minute or two longer, and then maybe he could ask JAck over dinner if he’d be willing to meet Sarah, or maybe—,

“Boo!” 

Davey definitely didn’t scream. He didn’t. Shut up.

He clutched his chest, breathing hard, having been startled. Davey came dangerously close to dropping his takeout, but that wasn’t important, because Jack Mcfuckface Kelly had just leapt out of an alleyway to scare the crap out of him.

It took Davey a moment to register what was going on, what Jack being here meant. “I—, Jack—, How—, When did—, I don’t—,”

“Cool right?” Jack was beaming, grinning like a madman. He did a little spin on his heels, as if to show off, ‘Look at me! I’m outside!’

Davey could only stare. “Jack, how did you get out here?”

“Well, I tripped on my shoelaces and fell through the door, but I don’t think that’s what caused it.” He chuckled good naturedly.

“Uhhh… I brought Chinese?” Davey managed to say, wincing at how stupid he sounded.

Jack perked up. “Did you get the—,”

“Black pepper chicken, yeah.” Davey nodded. “Uh, do you want to go in and eat?”

Jack pressed his lips into a thin line. “Actually… Can we stay out here? It’s just...” He trailed off, suddenly sounding meek and anxious.

Davey took a step closer to him, gently touching his elbow. “We don’t have to go in.”

Jack gave a sheepish smile and leaned into the touch. “I’m just nervous if I go back in I won’t be able to leave again. I don’t wanna be trapped anymore.”

Davey glanced at the apartment building doors, then back at the takeout, then Jack’s jittery expression. “Okay… Okay, let’s—,” He cut himself off, then nodded. “Let’s go to the park, we’ll have a picnic!”

The smile that crossed Jack’s face was blinding. It was the kind of smile that made your cheeks hurt, the kind where you don’t even bother to cover your crooked teeth with your hand because you’re just too excited! It was the kind of smile you could see in their eyes alone, and it made Davey’s heart melt.

God, Davey loved him.

Davey handed the food voer to Jack. “Okay, hold these. I’m gonna go fetch some things from inside, and then we’ll walk to the park together. Does that sound good to you?”

Jack nodded eagerly, then took Davey by the back of the neck, guiding him in for a sweet kiss. “Thank you,” He whispered against Davey’s lips. “For everything.”

Davey pulled back just enough to kiss Jack on the nose. “Of course. I’ll be back in a minute, babe.”

Davey went in and found a blanket for them to use, along with some napkins, cutlery, etc. Jack was waiting exactly where Davey left him. The park was far from empty, due to the nice weather, but it was a big park. They found a cozy little corner for themselves, right under a grand old oak tree, with lots of shade.

Davey could barely take his eyes off Jack. He was staring at everything, all the people, the plants, the buildings, the dogs, everything. It was like Jack marveled at every little thing, every tiny object. His eyes were bright, attentive, and full of wonder, and Davey couldn’t blame him.

“Help me lay out the blanket.” Davey handed Jack one end, and took the other himself. They laid it out and Jack set the food down in the middle, the practically fell onto the blanket.

“You all good down there?” Davey asked in amusement, hands on his hips.

Jack was one his back, eyes closed. He was breathing deeply, eyebrows furrowed. One hand was off the blanket, tangled in the grass. “I forgot what grass smelled like.” He admitted, voice soft.

Davey settled on the blanket beside him, and intertwined their fingers. “Is it everything you thought it was?”

“Yeah,” Jack’s eyes opened, and a smile twitched onto his lips. “I want to go to the theater, and a coffee shop. I wanna see bookstores, and museums—,” He sat up abruptly, pulling Davey’s hand to his chest. “I wanna see Santa Fe, and beaches, and that weird bean thing in Chicago!” He gushed, a new spark in his dark eyes.

His smile was contagious, and Davey couldn’t help but grin back at him. He brushed a lock of Jack’s hair out of his face. “Then we’ll go,” He squeezed Jack’s hand. “Together.”

Jack hummed in agreement, then moved closer to Davey on the blanket, his voice dropping to a wistful whisper. “We’ll stay in a hotel.”

Davey laughed. He supposed staying literally anywhere other than that apartment must seem to invergrating to Jack by now. “One with a pool.”

“And an ocean view,” Jack leaned in further and placed a gentle kiss on Davey’s lips, then pulled back just enough to say, “And we’ll order so much room service we’ll both get sick.”

Davey nodded along, smiling like an idiot. “So we’ll stay in bed for the rest of the trip, just cuddling.”

“We’ll take disgustingly adorable couple selfies.” Jack said decisively.

Davey dissolved into giggles, and his forehead landed on Jack’s shoulder. “We’ll never be able to afford this.” Jack’s fingers carded through his hair, and Davey melted into the touch. “But we should go somewhere… where do you want to go? We’ll start saving right away.”

“Really?” Jack asked, voice hushed.

Davey nodded against Jack’s shoulder. “Yeah, I want to travel with you.”

Jack hesitated, then said confidently, “Santa Fe. I’ve always wanted to go to Santa Fe.”

“Santa Fe it is then!” Davey kissed Jack’s cheek. “We’ll go to Santa Fe, and we’ll see deserts, and cowboys, and architecture.”

Jack cupped his cheek, staring Davey in the eyes with purpose. “Davey,” He begun, suddenly sounding serious. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Davey flushed and ducked his head sheepishly. “You flatter me.” He waved it off, reaching for the bags of takeout “Come on, let’s eat. I’ll feed you pot stickers like we’re in a cheesy romcom and you can try to convince me black pepper chicken isn’t disgusting.”

“You know me so well.”

Davey chuckled and opened a takeout box. He wrestled with the chopsticks and potsticker until getting ahold of one. “Open your mouth, Casper the friendly ghost.”

“Casper?” Jack gasped in mock offense. “Sorry, Davey, but I’ve seen your dick, I think we’re more than ‘friendly.’”

Davey snorted and ducked his head in embarrassment. “Open your mouth!” He managed to say between laughs.

Jack did as he was told, and Davey fed him the pot sticker. “You’re the worst.” Jack said through a full mouth.

Davey swat him arm scoldingly, but there was no bite behind it. “Swallow first.” Jack did as he was told, and Davey continued speaking. “So my sister wants to meet you.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Sarah?”

“Yeah.” Davey shrugged it off, wrestling with another pot sticker and chopsticks. He avoided Jack’s gaze. “Would you be down for that?”

Jack chewed his bottom lip. “Uh, sure!” He fidgeted with a napkin. “We’ll keep all the ghostly stuff a secret, right?”

“Well, our other option is to scare the crap out of her.” Davey chuckled lightly. He held out another pot sticker for Jack. He ate it.

Jack took his time chewing, then swallowed. “Do you think she’ll like me, or…?”

“She’ll adore you.” Davey answered automatically. “Here, I’ll prove it.” 

He scooted closer to Jack, then pulled out his phone, but he couldn’t click the camera app fast enough, and Jack caught a glimpse of his wallpaper. “Is that me?” He asked, in awe.

Davey sputtered in embarrassment. “O—, oh, Uh, no, I—,”

Jack snatched the phone to look closer. Davey groaned and buried his face in his hands. The wallpaper was Jack’s sleeping face, tucked against Davey’s chest in bed, one arm slung over Davey’s middle.

Jack stared at it. “Oh my god.”

Davey whimpered. “Is it weird? I feel like it’s weird. You just looked so cute, and it makes my day to look at every time I open my phone so—,”

“I’m in love with you.” Jack blurted out, eyes wide.

Davey startled at the words. His brain seemed to short circuit, because the only response he could muster was a weak, “Oh.”

Jack’s face flushed, but he didn’t backtrack. “Yeah.” He said with a small nod, as if confirming it to himself. He nodded again, decisively. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Davey.”

“Can—, can I say it back now?” Davey asked dumbly. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his entire body felt warm and restless.

Jack hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

Davey took Jack’s hands in his, a blinding smile splitting his lips. “I love you so much, Jackie.”

Then Jack kissed him, and one of Davey’s hands shot to cup his cheek, tracing circles there with his thumb. Jack melted into it, and Davey’s other hand landed on Jack’s chest, but he felt something there.

A thud.

Then another.

Another.

Another.

Another.

A heartbeat.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter y'all.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

There was that jolt in Jack’s chest again, a harsh thud.

Then another.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Davey was staring at him, his eyes wide and mouth agape, his hand lingering on Jack’s chest. It took Jack a moment to realize why he was staring, but then Davey’s hand moved to his neck, two fingers right under his jawline.

“You have a pulse.” Davey exhaled in amazement, his glaze flickering from Jack’s eyes to his neck.

“What?” Jack touched his neck hesitantly, then he felt it. A pulse, a heartbeat.

The world seemed to slow down around him. Suddenly the air coming in and out of his lungs felt fresh, and new. The blanket beneath him felt softer somehow, the lingering taste of pot stickers on his tongue was stronger.

It was hard to put into words, but everything around Jack, the entire world, felt more active, stronger, present. 

Or perhaps Jack was more present?

It didn’t matter, because Davey was cupping his face and looking at him in awe, as if awaiting a response. Jack didn’t have one to give, and Davey must’ve realised that, because he spoke again, “Jackie, I think you’re alive.” He whispered.

A laugh bubbled from deep inside Jack, but he cut it off. “Oh my god.” His hand didn’t leave his neck, he wanted to feel it, the pulse, the blood in his veins, his heartbeat. He needed to feel it. He couldn’t hold back the laugh for long though, and he quickly dissolves into hysterical laughter.

Davey pulled him into a tight hug, holding Jack’s head against his chest. He could hear Davey’s heartbeat, his fingers still over his pulse. They were synced, beating in time together. 

There were no words to describe how that felt, living. There should be more words to describe living.

\------

Davey’s mysterious boyfriend wasn’t what she expected. He was short, for one, and he had a stupidly thick New York accent, like old timey New York accent. It was like someone plucked him from the late 1800’s and dropped him in the 21st century.

He was hot though, she could see why Davey insisted he was so handsome. He had a strong jaw and tousled blackish brown hair. His eyes were dark and warm, like coffee. He wore skinny jeans, a blue collared shirt, and a old fashioned newsboy caps. He had a smear of green paint on his cheek, which Davey promptly cleaned off for him like the overbearing mom friend he was.

He kind of looked like an idiot, but a charming idiot.

They were in a cute little cafe near their apartment, all sipping their drinks. Sarah got hot chocolate, because coffee is disgusting.

“So how’d you two meet?” She asked, raising her mug to her lips.

Jack and Davey exchanged glances, then Jack answered with a guilty look, scratching the back of his neck. “I accidentally deleted his essay for class.”

“Accidentally?” Davey quirked a skeptically amused eyebrow at him.

Jack flushed. “Well, I fixed it, didn’t I?”

“Hmm, sure.” Davey sipped his drink, and he had the look on his face like he had something judgmental to say, but thought better than to say it.

“So Davey tells me you’re an artist?” Sarah asked, deciding to change the topic before Davey actually decided to speak his mind.

“Well,” Jack began, sounding hesitant. “Kinda.”

The more she spoke to Jack and Davey, the more Sarah noticed the little things. The looks, all soft eyes and red cheeks. Their hands not quite intertwined, but their pinkies hooked on the table. The way Davey said his name, ‘Jackie,’ all gentle, like it was a precious thing.

They were in love, even a blind man could see it as clearly as Sarah.

Towards the end, her mug nearly empty, Sarah asked, “How’d you know you were in love?”

And Jack smiled at Davey, like they were sharing a secret inside joke, and without looking away from him, Jack answered, “He makes me feel alive.”

\------

A parting note, for everyone who saw this through to the end;

Love, in whatever form you give and receive it…

In whatever or whoever’s name you choose to call it…

Whether it be romantic, sexual, platonic, parental, or something else…

Whether it be love for many, or for one, or for none, or for yourself…

Whether it be for men, women, both, none, or anyone in between…

Remember; Love breathes new life into what once felt dead, so be brave, be bold…

And take a deep breath. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments give me life. <3


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